


Bruised

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sleepwalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 39,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a sleepwalking episode, Will discovers that he's covered with bruises -- but has no idea where they came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bruised

Will frowned at himself in the mirror, raising a hand to his chest. He had no idea where those bruises had come from; he hadn't felt them last night when he had awakened to find himself sleepwalking again, lost in the woods that surrounded his home.

Well, he hadn't been _entirely_ lost. Fortunately, he'd known where he was; he had been able to make it back home with no mishaps.

But still, the fact that he'd been sleepwalking again had shaken him.

He'd thought it had stopped, but apparently he'd been wrong about that. Just because he hadn't had any sleepwalking episodes in a while, that didn't mean they had stopped entirely. It only meant that they were on the back burner, so to speak.

But this was something that he hadn't dealt with before. He'd never woken up from a sleepwalking episode to find himself covered with purple bruises.

He couldn't have been in some kind of altercation while he was _asleep_ , could he? No, that was ridiculous. Will scowled as he raised a hand to his bare chest, wincing when he touched a bruise. There was no way he would have slept through this.

Then how had he gotten these bruises?

It was terrifying to think that something could have been done to him while he was asleep, without him having a clue about it. He could feel panic start to rise within him.

He had to talk to Hannibal about this. Hannibal was his rock, the person he turned to when he started to feel less than stable. If he talked to Hannibal, then he could sort all this out in his head, and come to some conclusion that made sense.

Hannibal wasn't going to like the fact that he'd somehow injured himself, Will thought, wincing again as he reached for his shirt and pulled it on. He considered Will's body his property; he wasn't going to be happy that it was, even in only a small way, damaged.

Will quickly buttoned the shirt, not wanting to see the ugly purple marks.

Had he somehow done this to _himself_? Those bruises weren't caused by tree limbs tearing at his skin, or by simply falling down.

He had no idea how they'd been caused, and there was a part of him that didn't want to know. But he had to find out; his mind would keep bringing up a picture of those bruises in front of his eyes until he had come to some satisfactory explanation as to how they'd gotten there.

In the meantime, he was going to hide them as best he could. From himself, and from everyone else. He would only reveal them to Hannibal.

He was sure that Hannibal wouldn't be pleased. Well, neither was he. He didn't like not knowing where those marks on his body had come from. It made him feel frighteningly out of control, as though his body was doing things without his knowledge.

Actually, it was. Will smiled mirthlessly, a trickle of ice running down his spine.

That was exactly what his body did when he went sleepwalking. He had no control over his actions -- or over his thoughts. He had no idea what he was doing -- or what kind of trouble he might have gotten himself into. He just hoped it wasn't something he couldn't get out of.

Sighing softly, he turned away from the mirror, pushing the thought of those bruises away. They would fade quickly enough from his sight -- but not from his mind.


	2. A Very High Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is incensed that anyone could have the audacity to harm _his_ Will.

Hannibal frowned, listening as Will spoke, holding up a hand when the young man's voice became higher and more agitated. "Slow down, Will. Take your time."

From what he could gather, Will had been sleepwalking -- and had awakened with bruises all over his body. He had no idea what had caused those bruises, and that fact frightened him -- as it would anyone. He had no idea what had happened to him.

"Was there any evidence of .... nonconsensual acts?"

He hated to ask the question; Will was upset enough as it was, and Hannibal didn't want to put the idea that he could have been raped while in his dreaming state into his mind. But he _had_ to know if his boyfriend had been sexually assaulted.

But Will shook his head, vehemently disavowing the suggestion. "No. Nothing like that. I think I'd know it if anybody had touched me. Or done anything else."

"Yes, I believe you would, as well." Hannibal nodded, satisfied that Will hadn't been assaulted, a feeling of relief flowing through him. No one else had the right to touch Will in that way -- or in _any_ way. Will was _his_ , and his alone.

He would kill anyone who laid a hand on his property.

"Will, if you don't mind, please take off your shirt." His voice was crisp and clear; this wasn't a request, but a command. "I want to see these bruises. Maybe looking at them will give me some idea of how you acquired them."

At first, he thought that Will would refuse; the young man opened his mouth, holding up both hands, but then he nodded and got to his feet, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Hannibal could see his hands shaking; he was having difficulty with the buttons.

"Here, let me." His voice was soft and gentle as he stepped towards Will, taking over the task of opening the younger man's shirt. 

His scowl intensified as he pushed the fabric back from Will's slender shoulders, revealing the network of bruising across his chest, down his stomach, and extending over his shoulders and upper arms. Whatever had happened, it looked to have been brutal.

How had Will managed to sleepwalk through _this_?

He wanted to gather his young lover into his embrace, to comfort him, but he was sure that his touch would only cause Will pain. He needed to put some salve on the bruises; they were already turning green, which meant that they were at a painful point.

Guiding Will to the touch, he let the young man sit down, running gentle fingers through Will's hair. "I'll be right back, Will. I'm going to get some salve for those bruises."

When Will didn't answer, only nodding and not looking up, Hannibal exited the room quickly, clenching his hands into fists at his sides once he knew that he was out of Will's line of vision. He was incensed that anyone could do something like this.

He didn't doubt for a moment that a person had done this.

He would find whoever had touched Will, and they would pay for what they had done. They would feel far more pain than they had made Will feel before he dispatched them. It would give him great pleasure to do so, and to witness their pain.

It only took him a few moments to retrieve the salve from the bathroom cabinet upstairs, then come back to the office where Will was waiting for him.

Without a word, Hannibal sat down on the couch beside Will, turning the young man's body slightly to the side so that he could begin to smooth the salve over Will's shoulders, over the purple and green bruises that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

The sight of those bruises made Hannibal killingly angry.

Yes, he would find out who had done this, and that person would suffer. He would make sure of that. They wouldn't get away with causing Will so much pain.

He would make sure that his Will was avenged -- and himself, as well. No one dared to touch what he regarded as his own, without paying a price for that privilege. And this time, the price would be a very high one indeed. One that he would take great pleasure in extracting.


	3. Insatiable Urges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has a hard time holding back the urge to kill after seeing the full extent of the bruises on Will's body.

Hannibal sighed as he looked down at the young man sleeping in his bed; he had insisted that Will spend the night, but he wasn't going to insist on sex. Not in the condition that Will's body was in.

Who had beaten and bruised him? And more to the point, how was Hannibal to find this person to mete out the punishment they so richly deserved for harming Will? 

He had no idea where to begin.

This entire incident made him feel helpless, and that was _not_ a feeling he was used to dealing with. He was always in control; he always guided any situation he was in, firmly taking the helm and steering things in any way he chose.

This time, he couldn't do that. He was swept along on tides that had caught him unawares; they had been too strong for him to fight.

And his Will had suffered for that. Hannibal felt his breath catch in his throat; he could swear that his heart skipped a beat. When he had he come to care so deeply for Will? Why did it matter so much that someone else had touched the man he regarded as his?

Will was more than just a lover to him. This young man had stolen his heart.

Hannibal had never expected that. His feelings for Will had blindsided him; he was still assimilating them, finding out just where they fit into his life.

He loved Will. He accepted that fact. But if he loved so deeply, then why did he have the insatiable urge to pull the covers back and fall on the sleeping man, to add to those bruises on his body with a few more that were made by his own hand?

The realization that he could easily do so stunned him. He had always thought of himself as a man who valued control above all things; he would never have thought himself capable of losing control in such a way, of letting go to the point of incoherency.

But that was just what a part of him wanted to do.

No, Hannibal told himself firmly. _No._ He could never harm Will. He would never consider doing such a thing. Yes, he had put bruises on that beautiful body before, but never like this. His bruising had been a component of pleasure, not brutality.

This had been an act of rage, of an anger that Hannibal could hardly fathom. He didn't understand how anyone could harbor such anger against Will, of all people.

It was bothersome -- and worrying. He didn't want to think that someone out there could have some sort of vendetta against his young lover, but it seemed that could be the case here.

And if it was, then he would have to do his best to protect Will.

The problem with that was that Will wouldn't want to be protected. He would balk at the idea; even though they shared their lives with each other, Will had insisted on keeping his own home in Wolf Trap, and he spent just as many nights there as he did in Baltimore.

Will was essentially alone in Wolf Trap, and Hannibal didn't like that idea at all. Will needed someone there to watch over him, to make sure this didn't happen again.

Hannibal didn't want to think that Will could be even more brutalized if this happened a second time, but he feared that was exactly what would happen.

He wouldn't _allow_ it to happen.

The mere thought of someone else touching Will, leaving bruises on his body, made Hannibal's fists clench at his sides and a growl rise in his throat. He had never been so angry, never wanted to kill as much as he did at this moment.

The insatiable urge to go out and find the person who had terrorized Will grew within him, so strong that he almost wanted to howl in frustration.

He couldn't hunt them down. That would have to wait until he knew that Will was safely ensconced in some place where he would be protected -- and Hannibal could search out the person who had done this and make them pay dearly for it.

And he _would_ do so. It had become a mission, a purpose.

No one would touch Will again. Not like this. He would never allow it to happen, not as long as Will was with him. And Will would _always_ be with him.

Will was his. No one else had the right to lay a finger on him. He would hunt down the one who had, and they would beg for death by the time he was done with them.

Perhaps they had only been following their own urges, but his were far stronger.


	4. Shards of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will struggles to accept the fact that he many never know who was responsible for the attack on him.

Will awakened slowly, feeling drowsy and warm and not wanting to open his eyes. It registered immediately that he was in bed with Hannibal, his lover spooning behind him, Hannibal's arm wrapped protectively around his waist.

He couldn't keep back a smile of contentment; he loved waking up like this, loved feeling so comfortable and .... and _safe_.

He never felt like this at home in his own bed. Waking cold and alone was what he was used to, but it wasn't his preferred way of facing the morning; he much preferred to start the day in Hannibal's arms, preferably after making love.

That wasn't going to happen; he knew that Hannibal wasn't going to ask for sex when his body was so badly bruised. His lover would consider that rude.

Will wished that he could remember what had happened to him, who might have put those bruises on his body -- but his mind refused to cooperate, staying blank on the subject. Not even a glimmer of light, of remembrance, shone in his mind.

He would probably never find out who had done this to him.

If only there was at least one small shard of memory that he could cling to and bring into the light, but there was .... nothing. It was frightening to know that someone could have done something like this to him and that his mind had completely blocked out the experience.

But at least he knew that nothing else had been done to him; there was no evidence of sexual assault, and for that he was unendingly grateful.

He would have known if someone had raped him -- there could have been an _attempted_ rape, but Will was sure that he'd remember that, too. His mind might try to shut down during the attempt, but he was absolutely positive he would remember it.

What if he didn't? What if someone _had_ tried to rape him, hadn't succeeded, and had left all of these bruises on his body in retaliation?

Will shuddered at the thought, snuggling deeper under the covers. He didn't want to think that something so horrific could have happened to him; the bruises were bad enough. He didn't want to think of himself as being a victim.

He wasn't a victim. He was a survivor.

The sooner the bruises faded away and he could put this behind him, the better. It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on, or even think about any more. Of course, he would always wonder what had happened, but he'd survived it. That was the important thing.

Hannibal would push him to remember, of course. He would probably try to guide their impromptu therapy sessions towards making Will remember.

He didn't _want_ to remember, and the sooner he got Hannibal to realize that, the better. It wasn't going to do him any good to remember; he doubted that he would be able to bring a face to mind, and if he couldn't do that, there was no hope of catching his attacker.

Or attackers. There could have been more than one person; it was hard to believe that just one man, even one extremely angry man, could have put all of those bruises on his body. But if there had been more than one, then he would have almost certainly been raped.

And that hadn't happened, so he didn't know what to think. Unless this had been some kind of payback for something he'd done.

For all he knew, he could have been attacked by people who were intent on revenge for something that Will had done in the line of duty. He might have been the target of angry relatives of a killer he'd put behind bars. There were all kinds of possibilities.

He would probably never know, unless they attacked him again.

Will trembled at that thought, pushing it away as quickly as it had come into his mind. He wasn't going to be attacked again. He wasn't going to let himself be that vulnerable, or be caught in such a position, when he was unaware and unprepared.

But if he was sleepwalking, how could he stop it? He wouldn't know what was happening if he wasn't awake. And that was probably how this had happened.

Whoever had attacked him had seen that he was unaware and vulnerable. They had take advantage of that fact, and for all he knew, they had tried to rape him and failed for some reason. Maybe they had just been able to complete the act.

Maybe that was why they'd beaten him black and blue, left the bruises on his body. Out of frustration and fury at their own inability to do what they'd planned.

If that was the case, then he was thankful for it. But he would more than likely never know, so there was no sense in going over and over it again in his mind, trying to pull some kind of remembrance from what would always nothing more than complete darkness.

He couldn't force himself to remember. It just wasn't happening.

Will felt Hannibal move behind him, felt his lover's arm tighten around his waist. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes again and sinking back into a half-doze. He felt safe and warm; he didn't want to get up yet, didn't want to face the day.

He was here with Hannibal, right where he wanted to be. He was safe and protected, and there was nothing for him to be afraid of.

He couldn't be afraid, not when he was wrapped in such warmth. There was something about being with Hannibal that made him feel as though the rest of the world was very far away, and that he would never have to be afraid of anything ever again.

Hannibal had that effect on him. He probably always would. There would always be warmth and safety to be found in those arms, always a safe place for him to hide.

When Hannibal's hand moved down his body to rest on his hip, Will couldn't hold back a smile. He knew that his lover wanted him -- and even with the bruises, he was sure that there were several ways they could both find satisfaction and start the day off pleasantly.


	5. Blank Slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is becoming more and more frustrated by his inability to remember anything about his attack.

Will sighed as he leaned back against the headboard of Hannibal's bed, searching his memory for anything that might tell him what had happened just two nights ago. But his memory remained frustratingly blank, not giving up any secrets it might hold.

There was nothing there, nothing but a blank slate. Will was sure that his memory would open up at some point, but for now, it was being silent.

It was annoying not to know what had happened to him; he wanted to put a face to his attacker, to know who had dared to touch him. He was just grateful that there had been nothing more than a physical attack; a sexual one would have been too much.

He already felt dirty enough without feeling victimized.

If he was honest with himself, he _had_ been victimized, though luckily not in the sexual sense. But he didn't want to think of himself as being a victim.

That would strip away far too much of his confidence, and he had precious little of that as it was most of the time. He didn't need to think of himself as having been helplessly manipulated; it shook him to his core to realize that he'd been powerless against his attacker.

Or what if there had been more than one? 

It seemed that was a possibility; his body was so badly bruised that _two_ people could have beaten him up instead of just one. But t didn't feel right to think that he could have stayed in his sleepwalking state while something like that was happening to him.

But he apparently had, and that knowledge shook him even more than the attack itself. He hadn't known what was happening. He'd been oblivious to it all.

It terrified him to think that he'd had no control.

Every time he thought of that loss of control, he felt dirty, as though he'd somehow been tainted by what had happened. Even though he knew that Hannibal didn't feel the same, he couldn't help wondering if his boyfriend would somehow see him in that way as well.

He didn't want this to affect his relationship with Hannibal. He didn't want them to be torn apart by what had happened. But he feared that it was possible.

Will pushed that thought away, locking it down and slamming a door on it. He hated feeling dirty, hated feeling that he would always feel tainted and never be clean again. And he hoped that together, he and Hannibal could find out who had done this, before it drove him insane.

If they didn't put a picture on that blank slate, this feeling of being tainted would obliterate him.


	6. Into the Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has an unconventional idea that he hopes might bring him some insights into his sleepwalking.

"Hannibal, can you hypnotize me?"

Will hadn't expected to ask that question, but it had popped out almost of its own volition. It was something he'd been thinking about for the last couple of days; he didn't know if Hannibal was capable of doing so, but if he was, it was worth a try.

He had to know what had happened to him, why his body was so bruised and battered. And if Hannibal could guide him into some place that was buried in his memory, a place where those memories would open up and reveal their secrets to him, he needed to do so.

He needed to go into the void of his mind, even though it was a frightening, dark place that he would rather avoid. He _had_ to know what had happened to him.

If he didn't find out, he was going to go insane. He couldn't stand wondering about what had happened, and letting his mind make all kinds of wild conjectures. He had to know for certain what had taken place and deal with it, so he could move on.

Will knew that he had to put this incident behind him, but without full closure, he doubted that he would be able to do that. And if he couldn't, then it would probably eat away at him, make him become more and more paranoid, and his sanity would slowly crumble.

Of course, most people would probably say that had already happened.

His mouth quirked into a wry smile at the thought. So many people already thought he was crazy -- or that he was nothing more than Jack Crawford's pet freak.

He hated that. He hated being thought of as some kind of nutjob, someone who was only brought out when Jack needed help with a particularly bad case. He was the eccentric professor, the person who had some kind of weird gift that set him apart from everyone else.

No, not a gift, at least not in his eyes. More of a curse. One that he felt he could never escape from. It would make him for the rest of his life.

He hated what he was. Sometimes he even hated _who_ he was. But fortunately, Hannibal had been helping him to overcome that.

Still, it wasn't easy to deal with what could be called a curse and a gift equally -- and the fact that he also had to deal with issues like his sleepwalking didn't help, either. There were times when he wondered if he would crack under all the pressure.

So far, he'd managed not to. But it was getting worse, and he could feel himself coming apart at the seams. He was sure that Hannibal could sense it, too.

Hell, everyone around him probably realized that he was starting to fall apart.

This new pressure with the sleepwalking was only making things worse. Will could literally feel himself, his psyche, starting to unravel, and it was frightening. If Hannibal could hypnotize him, bring his memories to the surface, maybe that would help.

And maybe it wouldn't, he thought with a sigh. But going into the void, trying to dredge something up from that darkness, might at least give him some answers.

"I have never hypnotized anyone, Will." Hannibal's tone rang with regret; Will could tell that he didn't like having to admit to such a thing. "I'm sorry."

"It's out of your spectrum, I guess." Will didn't know why he felt so inexplicably beaten; he had really hoped that Hannibal would be able to do this. But his boyfriend was probably one of those psychiatrists who felt that hypnotism was a silly parlor trick.

"I could take you to someone who could help you with this."

Those next words made Will's heart rate quicken, his breath come faster. So, Hannibal actually believed that hypnotism might do him some good, help with his problem.

"I believe that if you were hypnotized, the reasons for your sleepwalking could possibly come to light -- and it might stop the occurrences from happening altogether." Hannibal leaned across the slight space that separated the chairs they were seated in, his gaze intense.

"It's worth a try," Will offered, feeling a little uncomfortable by the expression on Hannibal's face. It was the look o a man who was studying a .... lab specimen.

He didn't like to have his boyfriend, his lover, looking at him like that. It diminished what he was to Hannibal, made him feel like nothing more than an .... experiment.

No, he shouldn't feel that way, Will told himself firmly. He was far more than that to Hannibal, and he knew it. They had a relationship; they weren't merely a doctor and his patient. He could trust Hannibal; there was no reason for him not to.

Being hypnotized _was_ a frightening thought. He would be going into the void of his mind when he was sleepwalking, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to see what was there.

But it wasn't as though he had much of a choice, at this point.

Will took a deep breath, nodding and looking directly at Hannibal. "Then do it. I want to know what happens when my body is in control and my mind is asleep. I want to know where I go, what I do. And I want to try to keep it from happening again."

Hannibal shook his head, looking worried. "Will, I don't think that simply being hypnotized and finding out what happens when you are sleepwalking will make it stop. That is a void that your body steps into, and I do not think you can easily push it away."

"Mayne not," Will told him, taking a deep breath. "But I need to try to find out more about what happens. If I don't, then it's going to drive me over the brink."

Though he still looked troubled, Hannibal nodded slowly. "And there will be someone there who can bring you out of the hypnotic trance, so you will be safe. Perhaps you can find answers as to just what happened to you the last time you were sleepwalking."

"That's what I'm hoping," Will answered, realizing that his tone was much more grim than he intended for it to be. He tried to lighten his voice when he spoke again. "I need to know, Hannibal. And if this is a way to find out, then it's at least a start."

He would have to plunge into the void. But he could do it.

If it brought him some closure, then he could close his eyes and dive in, no matter how frightening it might feel at first. Hopefully, it would only be this once, and then eh would have the closure he needed. If not that, then he might at least have a place to start looking for answers.

Will leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. This was only the first step, but it was one he had to take. And no matter how scary it was, he knew that he would have Hannibal to hold his hand and be beside him every step of the way.


	7. Up From the Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a flashback at a crime scene that takes him not into the crime that's just been committed, but into his own past.

He hated this.

He hated going to crime scenes that were particularly bloody. He hated having to get into the minds of killers who considered brutality like this their "work," and took pleasure in it. He was burning out; he wouldn't be able to do this for much longer.

Yet Jack kept pushing him, insisting that he keep on. He couldn't say no, not when lives depended on what he and he alone could do.

But as Will knelt by the body, his keen eyes trying to find something that no one else had seen yet, he knew that his usefulness to the FBI in this capacity was more than likely coming to an end soon .He couldn't keep doing this. It was tearing him apart.

He became more fragmented with each case.

If he kept doing this, he was only going to become more fragmented, until eventually, he would break down and be of use to no one. Not even to himself.

That wasn't how he wanted to end his career in the field, by being a burnt-out wreck. Which meant that he had to stand firm against what Jack wanted, which was for him to work in the field until he broke down, and then quietly go back to teaching.

He wasn't going to do that. He wasn't going to allow himself to be worked to the bone, to be used just to satisfy Jack Crawford's ambitions.

But for the moment, he was committed to doing this, until he could find a way to stop doing the field work and simply go back to what he felt he did best, which was the teaching aspect of his job. It was quiet. It was normal. It was .... _safe_.

Right now, safe was what he wanted. It was what he _needed_. He needed to be out of the field, back in his office, surrounded by the familiar.

What he was doing now was slowly killing him, piece by piece.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the chance to do this, to help people. But as he stepped back from the body on the floor, closed his eyes, and let his mind connect with that of the killer, he couldn't help feeling that this was a very bad idea.

The killer's actions hit him like a speeding car hitting a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour, but they didn't jerk him out of the world he was now inhabiting.

Rather, they sent him into a flashback of what had happened that night when he'd been sleepwalking and had woken up with his entire body bruised and aching.

The killer had found him. The killer had been stalking _him_. He had beaten Will to within an inch of his life, left him black and blue as a warning not to try to track him down. This new body was only the first of a killing spree that was intended to go on for a very long time.

Will had been warned not to pursue this.

The flashback became more intense; he could actually _remember_ the look in those maniacal eyes as he was being beaten and thrown to the ground.

He couldn't see a face, didn't know a name. But he could see those _eyes_ \-- so dark brown that they were almost black, and without one shred of compassion or decency. No reverence for life at all. Only a dark, malevolent hatred.

Within moments, he had pulled himself out of the flashback and into the normal world around him. But he was shaking, trembling, his breath coming in short gasps.

He hadn't even managed to go into the killer's mind -- at least, not as he usually did, here at the scene of the crime he'd committed. But he _had_ been inside that mind when the killer had attacked him -- and it had been more appalling than any he'd ever accessed before.

The man had wanted to kill him. Will didn't know why, but he couldn't help but think that the reason was something much deeper than him being on the killer's trail.

No, this felt like something .... personal.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. This wasn't something he'd expected to deal with today. He hadn't thought that he would find out at least part of the reason behind his own attack; he'd only thought that he would be doing his job at a crime scene.

He still had to do that, still had to find out something about this killer to satisfy Jack. But he couldn't do it now. Everything was too close to the surface.

Forcing himself back into the mode of concentration that he needed to be in, he closed his eyes, trying to find his way back into the killer's mind. But this time, he was going to focus on this case in particular -- and hope that nothing else from his own past came up from the depths.


	8. Planning Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal intends to take out his own kind of vengeance on the man who attacked Will.

"So, you now know who attacked you." Hannibal leaned back in his chair, staring at Will. "Or, you do in a certain sense. It's unfortunate that you didn't see a face."

Will sat in the chair opposite him, hands clenched in his lap. "I'd give anything to know who he is. And just _why_ he attacked me," the younger man said, his voice betraying his frustration. "All I know is that he doesn't want me to get in his way."

"It's rather obvious why," Hannibal countered. "He's a killer, Will, and you catch killers and put them behind bars. He doesn't want to be incarcerated, so he has 'warned' you to stop you from pursuing him. He hopes that this will deter you, that you'll be intimidated."

"Well, it's not going to work," Will said, his jaw set. Hannibal could see how tense he was; the younger man almost looked as though he would shatter at any moment.

This was not a promising start to their session.

He was worried about Will, worried about the fact that his young lover seemed so intent on hunting down his attacker and confronting him on his own.

WIll was only taking his life into his own hands if he tried something like that, and Hannibal wasn't about to agree with him on that subject, or give him the opportunity to do anything foolish. If Will met his attacker face to face, he would have others around him.

Hannibal would make sure of that. There was no way that he was letting his lover risk his life over a man who, as far as Hannibal was concerned, deserved no consideration.

It was bad enough that this man had been killing innocent people, and making Will's life -- and his job -- so hard for him over the past few weeks, Hannibal reflected. But he had attacked Will himself -- which made him fair game.

Hannibal had no intention of letting this man go unpunished. Will had one idea of what the punishment would be when he was caught. Hannibal had another.

No one touched his Will and survived. No one. He would exact his own vengeance.

This man wasn't going to live to be put behind bars. In Hannibal's eyes, he didn't deserve to live in a prison, to have taxpayers' money fund his continuing life, and to have a chance to think about what he had done. No, he didn't deserve any of those concessions.

What he deserved was death, a painful one. The man had dared to touch Will, to harm him. And Hannibal wasn't going to allow anyone to do that and continue breathing.

Just the thought of that .... _person_ having his hands on Will, touching him, harming him, inflicting those bruises, made Hannibal feel murderously angry.

Will thought that he could find the man -- if he could manage to pull a face out of his memory. Hannibal wasn't sure that he could do so; after all, Will had been sleepwalking through the experience -- though he didn't see how that was possible.

How could anyone sleepwalk through being attacked and beaten?

But somehow, Will had, even though the experience had obviously been painful. It worried him that Will had stayed asleep, his mind numbed, through such a brutal beating.

He was afraid for Will, afraid for his safety. This killer obviously knew how to find his young lover's home -- he had attacked Will in the woods near his home, and had apparently laid in wait for him. That meant that he could easily target Will again.

That was what worried him more than anything else -- that Will would be attacked again, and possibly harmed even more this time, before they could identify the killer.

Hannibal didn't think that Will would be able to break through that veil that was between his body and his conscious mind when he was sleepwalking -- at least, not on his own. The idea that Will had presented to him only a few days ago of being hypnotized came to his mind.

Of course, being hypnotized wasn't going to guarantee Will's safety -- or guarantee that he would be able to identify the killer. But it was worth a try.

Why not? He knew that Bedelia could do it.

"I believe that we should consider your idea of being hypnotized, Will," he said, looking directly into the younger man's eyes. "I think it could tell us who this man is."

Will seemed to consider his words for a few minutes, then he nodded slowly in agreement. "Yeah. I think you're right. I might have been sleeping, but my unconscious mind might have managed to get a 'look' at him without me knowing it."

It was a slim possibility, Hannibal knew. But it was one that they had to explore -- for Will's sake. They had to find out who this man was, and make sure that he didn't get close to Will again. And Hannibal knew just what he planned to do to that man once he was found.

"I'll call my friend and arrange it," he said with a nod. "Tomorrow morning." That would give them both the rest of the night to think about this -- and for him to plan his vengeance.


	9. Finding the Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will hopes that being hypnotized will finally let him find the answers he seeks about his attacker.

There was silence in the office.

Will lay on the couch, not wanting to open his eyes. The doctor who was Hannibal's friend had told him to stay there, to relax and let his mind drift.

He wasn't really surprised by that; he'd known that he would have to try to clear his mind before he could allow himself to be hypnotized. He'd never done anything like this before, and he had to admit that he was horribly nervous about it.

But if this was the way to find out who had attacked him, if this wold give him a clear look at the man's face, then he was more than ready to do it.

He couldn't deal with the uncertainty any longer.

Every person he saw, everyone he looked at, made him wonder. _Is this the man who attacked me?_ It was taking over his mind, making him feel .... well, _crazy_. It was all he could concentrate on, all he could think about. 

It was interfering with everything that he did. And it was making him uneasy and jumpy, not only when he was working in the field, but all the time.

It was time to put a stop to this, to find out -- if he could -- who he was searching for. If he could put a face to that attack, he had to try to do so.

The thought was terrifying. He wasn't sure that he _wanted_ to see the man's face. But until he did, until he knew who had done this, then his life was always going to feel this disjointed, this disrupted. And he couldn't live with that any longer.

It was time to delve into his subconscious for answers.

This might very well be the most frightening thing he'd ever asked himself to do. But he _would_ do it, and hopefully, he'd find the answers he sought.

If he didn't, then had run out of options, Will thought with a sigh. If this didn't yield any answers, then he'd simply have to wait until the man tried to attack him again -- and this time, he might not survive it. That was an even more frightening thought.

He hoped this would work. He hoped that Dr. du Maurier knew what she was doing, and that she would be able to draw something out of him.

He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind. He had to let the silence take over, let it permeate him and make him feel calm.

Will took one deep breath, then another, willing himself into that calm state.

He could hear Hannibal and Dr. du Maurier in the next room, coming back to him. In just a few minutes, this would begin -- and maybe he would have his answers at last.


	10. Surrounded By Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he's sinking into the darkness of hypnosis, Will hopes that his subconscious mind will finally give him some answers.

He couldn't open his eyes. He didn't want to.

Will knew that Dr. du Maurier was slowly putting him under hypnosis, but he wasn't there yet. Rather. He was in soothing darkness, a comfortable cocoon of oblivion.

No, not oblivion. He wasn't unconscious; he knew of all that was going on around him. He knew that if he were to open his eyes, he would see both people sitting there, Hannibal and Dr. du Maurier. He knew that they were in the room, that they were watching and waiting.

And he knew that he was lying here on the couch, waiting for the moment when he would drift away and not think with his conscious mind for a while.

It was a strange feeling, to know that his mind would be on hold.

His mind would be somewhere in the past, reliving that attack. He didn't really consciously remember it; there were moments when bits and pieces would come back to him, but there was no memory of pain, of being beaten and bruised.

The thought of facing that again made him want to shrink away, but he had no choice. He had to go into the darkness of his memories and confront what had happened.

He would never have any peace of mind until he did. He would always want to shrink away from that part of his memory, and he'd always be afraid of it.

Over time, that fear would become paranoia, and if he let it grow, then it would take over his life. He didn't want that to happen. He knew that, given his singular personality, it would be all too easy for that fear to grow and develop rapidly.

He wasn't going to give in to that fear. He was going to conquer it.

If that meant going into the darkness of his mind and facing his fears head=on, then he'd do just that. It might not be easy, but then, nothing worth doing ever was.

The darkness was closing in now, starting to overtake him. Will almost smiled; it was more comfortable than he'd thought it would be, lying here listening to the soft voice of Dr. du Maurier, hearing the words that were supposed to send him into another world.

Maybe they would. Maybe he would finally have his answers in only a little while. He hoped so. He wanted those answers. He _needed_ them.

With only a few more words, the darkness surrounded him completely.


	11. Facing His Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is shocked when he comes face to face with his assailant.

"Where are you, Will?"

He could hear Dr. du Maurier's voice, but it sounded very far away. She and Hannibal were somewhere near, but he couldn't see them; he could only _feel_ their presence. Still, it was comforting to know that he wasn't alone out here, that someone was nearby.

He wasn't helpless. He wasn't going to be attacked again. He would have people watching out for him, people who would keep him from being harmed.

"I'm .... out in the woods," he said, feeling as though the words weren't coming from his mouth. It didn't seem that he was actually talking to anyone; Dr. du Maurier's voice seemed to be in his head, her nearby presence not quite indicative of a real person.

He blinked, looking around him. He was in the woods outside his house, where he had been attacked by the person he was now trying to find. What was he doing here?

Will didn't know why he was here, but he didn't want to be. He wanted to be inside his home where it was safe, where he could lock the doors and no one could get to him. He felt far too vulnerable and exposed out here; he needed to get back into his house.

"It's all right, Will. You have nothing to fear. You're safe here."

Dr. du Maurier's voice was an echo all around him, the words trying to comfort him. But he didn't feel in the least comforted; he didn't believe the words.

Hannibal and Dr. du Maurier didn't really seem to be here. If they weren't, then how could they say that they would protect him? They wouldn't be able to help him if he was attacked again. If they weren't right by his side, then they wouldn't be able to get to him in time.

He would simply have to trust that they would be there, that they would help him if he needed it. He would have to put himself in their hands.

That wasn't going to be easy for him to do, but he would try.

Will took a deep breath, the sound seeming to echo all around him. His breathing was heavy and labored; he knew that it was because of his own fear. He had to conquer that fear, push it down, make it go away. He had to slay the demons that lay in wait for him.

If he was going to find this person who had attacked him, if he was going to bring them to justice, he had to conquer his own fears regarding them.

Fear was only going to make him weak. He took another deep breath, and another. He couldn't let that fear wear him down; that would be letting this person, whoever they were, have power over him. He wasn't going to do that. He wouldn't give them the upper hand.

Overriding that fear was harder than it appeared to be.

But somehow, he managed to do it. He blinked again, turning around in a slow circle, studying the area around the front of his house.

This wasn't where he'd been when he was attacked; he was sure of it. He'd been somewhere _near_ his house, sleepwalking, on the road. But he hadn't been right here, within sight of his own home. He knew that for a fact; it just didn't _feel_ right.

But if he didn't know exactly where he'd been, then how could he pinpoint the location where he had been so precipitously attacked and try to get a look at his assailant?

Will took one slow step forward, then another, closing his eyes. He heard Dr. du Maurier's voice, seemingly further away than ever, just a murmur in his mind.

And when he opened his eyes again, he didn't know where he was. Yes, he was on the road somewhere near his home, but he wasn't entirely sure just where that was. He felt disoriented, as though everything had been turned inside out in the blink of an eye.

"Where are you now, Will?" Dr. du Maurier's voice came again, closer this time, clearer. He could hear her softly voiced question in his mind; he had to answer her.

"I'm near my house. Out on the road. Walking."

This was it. This was the place. He knew that more clearly than he'd ever known anything; _this_ was where he had been attacked, where he had been beaten black and blue, and then left there, dazed and confused and unaware of what had just happened to him.

Anger rose in him at the thought. This time, when his attacker appeared, he wouldn't simply let himself be victimized. He would fight back.

This time, he wasn't going to let himself be harmed. He wasn't a helpless sleepwalker now; he had his wits about him, he knew what was going to happen, what his attacker intended to do. And he wasn't going to just stand there and take it. _Not this time._

That thought echoed in his mind, giving him an inner strength.

He would need that strength when he came face to face with his attacker, Will thought grimly. He would need all the help he could get to unmask the bastard.

No, he wouldn't be unmasking him, exactly; the man hadn't been wearing a mask. He would just need to get one good look at the face, so he would be able to recreate it in his mind well enough for a sketch artist to do a composite drawing. And then the hunt would begin.

His muscles tensed; he was sure that he could _feel_ someone's presence near him, someone who wasn't Hannibal or Dr. du Maurier. Someone malevolent.

Someone who meant to do him harm.

It would only be a moment before that person was upon him. He was ready for them; he would be able to see who had left those bruises on his body, to meet his attacker face to face, to get their features firmly fixed in his mind so he would be able to discover who they were.

He could feel that presence more closely now. He didn't know who it was, but they were near; it was the same presence that he'd felt during that sleepwalking episode.

They were close. They were going to try to surprise him, but this time, he was prepared. He would swing around to face them when they least expected it, take in who they were, and they would be caught. After this, it would only be a matter of time before they were behind bars.

Closer now; the presence was right behind him, so close that he could almost feel warm breath on his neck. Their breath seemed to echo in his ears, the sound heavy in the quiet night.

 _Now._ Will swung around, his eyes widening in shock and confusion. What stood there before him wasn't at all what he'd expected to see; he stumbled back, choking back a cry of amazement, stunned that _this_ was what had left him bruised and battered.

He wasn't facing a man, but a huge, menacing stag.


	12. Confused Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is sure that what he saw under hypnosis can't possibly be the reality of what attacked him when he was sleepwalking.

Will blinked, not realizing where he was for a few moments.

He was lying on a couch, looking up at the ceiling. He searched his memory for what he'd been doing, and all he could remember was uttering a shriek, one that must have woken him from a sound sleep. But what was he doing sleeping on a strange couch?

This wasn't Hannibal's couch, where he'd fallen asleep before. And it definitely wasn't his own couch at home. It was too narrow, too uncomfortable.

Besides, this wasn't his ceiling. This room wasn't familiar. For just a moment, he panicked, having no idea where he was and what he was doing here. Had he been kidnapped? Was he in some place he didn't want to be, where he had no business being?

He almost sighed with relief when Hannibal's face appeared above him, within his line of vision, a moment later. It was followed by Dr. du Maurier's, looking concerned.

"Are you all right, Will?" she said, her voice very soft and laced with worry. "When you screamed, I woke you up as quickly as I could. I thought you needed to be brought out of the trance. I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted, but I had no other choice."

Will shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face as he sat up.

"It's okay," he said, feeling weak and more than a little disoriented. "Sorry about the scream. I couldn't help it. What I saw scared the hell out of me."

"What was it, Will?" Hannibal asked him. The doctor sat down next to him, supporting him, helping him to sit up without wavering. "I don't know what you saw, but whatever it was must have been frightening, judging from the scream you let out."

"It was," Will said tersely, feeling the muscles in his shoulders knotting from the tension. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to force himself to relax.

Would they think he was crazy if he told them what he'd seen? It wasn't possible that a _stag_ could have left those bruises on him. But he was starting to remember more now, and it wasn't exactly a stag that he'd seen in that vision.

No, it wasn't fully a stag. It had a stag's head -- _but it had the body of a man_. A body that looked, somehow, oddly familiar and foreign at the same time.

He didn't want to think about that right now.

He had to describe what he'd seen, in a way that wouldn't make these two people think he was crazy. It sounded insane, even to his own ears.

But the image was clear in his mind now; he knew what he'd seen? Or did he? Will asked himself. What he had seen in his vision when Dr. du Maurier had hypnotized him probably had no relation to what he might have actually seen in the real world.

A dream, a vision, wasn't going to help him. There was no way of knowing if his mind was recalling, or if he was simply dreaming and replacing reality with his own fears.

How was he going to explain it so that it made sense? It hardly made sense in his own mind; he couldn't expect anyone else to believe what he'd seen.

He almost didn't believe it himself. He was sure that it was just some figment of his imagination, brought on by his own fears and uncertainties about the features of the man who had attacked him. It couldn't be real. No stag could do what this one had apparently done.

"Will, what did you see?" Hannibal's voice was sharper now, more insistent. He wanted to know what had been in that vision, and Will could hardly blame him.

He shook his head, still uncertain of what to say.

"I'm sorry," he began, shaking his head. "I don't know exactly what I saw. It has to be me mixing up some dreams I've had with reality. It can't be real."

He paused, trying to think of just how to describe what he'd seen. "It can't be real," he said again. "What I saw wasn't .... human. It was a stag, a stag's head on a man's body. It was a combination of fantasy and reality. It isn't going to help."

"It sounds as though you're getting the reality of the man who attacked you confused with some frightening dreams you've had." Dr. du Maurier nodded, frowning.

Will sighed softly, shaking his head. "Me being that confused about what's real and what's not isn't going to help. Sorry to have wasted your time, Dr. du Maurier. I really thought that hypnosis would help, but it just feels like I'm even more confused now."

"It isn't your fault, Will," she said, looking sympathetic. "It was probably such a trauma to be attacked when you were sleepwalking that your mind is blocking it out."

Will nodded, but he knew that wasn't quite true.

He wasn't blocking out the reality of the attack. That was all too clear in his mind, and he had relived it far too many times in his nightmares since it had happened. All he was blocking out was the face of the man who had done this -- if he'd even see that face at all.

He had no way of knowing whether he had or not. And until he could pinpoint a face in his mind, even hazy features, there was no way he could move forward.

"I'm sorry," he said again, wishing that he could give Hannibal and Dr. du Maurier more to go on. But his stubborn mind refused to give him a clear picture of reality, instead superimposing the fantasy that he knew couldn't be real over what he knew had been there.

It was beyond frustrating not to be able to access what had actually happened. And Will knew that until he did, the nightmares would continue.

He jammed his hands into his pockets as he stood up, wishing that he could do more, but feeling that he was at the end of the line with this road of inquiry. He had no idea where to turn now in the search for the man who had attacked him, how else to search for that identity.

At this point, it felt like there was nowhere left to turn.


	13. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wishes that he could get a clear mental picture of the creature he sees in his dreams.

Will turned over in bed, blinking at the glowing numbers on the clock.

It was nearly two in the morning, and he hadn't been able to sleep since he'd gone to bed just before midnight. He really shouldn't be surprised at that, he told himself with a sigh. He barely slept at all these days; a couple of hours at most.

That lack of sleep was starting to show; he got tired halfway through lectures, and twice now he'd fallen asleep at his desk between classes.

But his body didn't want to rest at night, and he knew why. It was because of the disturbing dreams that were haunting him, the dreams where he kept seeing a stag's antlers on a man's head, along with a body that looked disconcertingly familiar.

But it was a body that he couldn't place.

He didn't know why it all seemed so hazy and indistinct in his mind; he was sure that the image had been much clearer when he'd been under hypnosis.

A part of him wanted to fall asleep and have that dream of the stag again, so he could focus on the man's face and figure out who it was. Though of course, it was possible that the body those antlers were on could belong to someone he didn't even know.

Though if that was the case, at least having the dream again could give him a clearer picture of the face of the man who had attacked him.

Once he had that picture, then he could describe it to a sketch artist, and they would at least have some idea of who they were looking for.

But as long as sleep remained maddeningly elusive, except for those few moments that he could manage to snatch between classes, or an hour or two of dreamless sleep right before the alarm went off to wake him for the day, that wasn't going to happen.

So far, the dreams hadn't given him any kind of clear mental image. All he had was those stag's antlers, and the body of a man who he didn't recognize at all.

And that, Will thought with a sigh, was completely frustrating.

If only he could pull that dream out of the mists of sleep and into reality, and the picture of who had attacked him would come clear in his head, then he would feel a lot better, Will thought with a sigh. A huge burden would be lifted from his shoulders.

Besides that, he'd probably be able to sleep again, because he wouldn't be afraid of that image haunting his dreams night after night.

He turned over again, this time facing the wall, and closed his eyes. This time, he _was_ going to manage to get some sleep -- and if he saw that menacing man-stag figure in his dreams, he would try his best to place a face to the formless features.

He needed to bring that dream into focus, before he lost his mind..


	14. Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally connects dream and reality -- and doesn't like the answers he gets.

A stag. He must be losing his mind.

There was no such thing as a man with stag's antlers sprouting out of his head. What was wrong with him? He was really starting to sound crazy.

Maybe it was just the lack of sleep, Will told himself with a sigh. That would be enough to make anybody start hallucinating about strange things. Impossible things. Yes, that had to be what it was. If he could get his body onto a decent sleep schedule, his mind would calm down. 

Or would it? He distinctly remembered a few frightening dreams where _he_ had been the one with those stag's antlers weighing him down.

But he couldn't have been attacked by a _deer_. No animal would have left those bruises on his body. It had been a while ago, and they'd faded now. But he could still remember how painful they had been -- and yet he couldn't remember what had caused them.

The memory of whoever had attacked him was there; he knew it was. But it was buried so deeply that his mind refused to access the image.

Why was that the only mental picture he had?

Had he been so utterly terrified by his attacker that any semblance of reality had been drive out of his mind, and replaced by the image of a stag?

Will sighed, resting his head in his hands. That was the only rational explanation that he could come up with; his mind had just been so started by the unexpectedness of being attacked that his confused brain hadn't been able to fix a clear picture of his assailant.

Because he most definitely had _not_ been attacked by a deer, or by a man wearing a deer's antlers on his head. That was too fantastic to believe.

If only those mists in his mind would clear away!

All he needed was a clearer picture of his assailant's face, and he was sure that the features would come into view, that he'd be able to give a decent description.

That was all it would take. A description given to a sketch artist, a little time spent probing his memory for that face, and they could start looking for this person. They'd eventually find him, and people would be able to feel safer and sleep better at night.

Well, he himself would certainly feel safer, Will told himself dryly. He'd know that if he happened to walk in his sleep again, he wouldn't be assaulted.

Not that sleep had ever come easily to him, Will thought with another wry smile.

But ever since the attack, he'd been even more unable to sleep. Just when he thought every night that he'd be able to drop off to sleep, he would be jolted back into wakefulness.

Was that simply his body trying to warn him that he couldn't let his guard down, or another attack would happen? He didn't want to think that he was so unconsciously paranoid.

But there was a good chance he was, Will thought tiredly.

All of this had not only robbed him of his sleep, but his peace of mind. He wasn't going to rest until he was able to put an identity to his assailant.

Which seemed to be impossible. He'd been so sure that hypnotism would work, but instead, that had only driven his recollections of that _face_ further away from him, making those memories retreat into the mists, tantalizing and beckoning but never delivering.

He _had_ to get a handle on those features, he told himself, closing his eyes and slumping back in his chair. He _had_ to know who had done this.

If he didn't, it would drive him slowly out of his mind. He was already getting there.

Without realizing it, he was sliding slowly into sleep; his head was still propped in his hand, but his eyes had clsoed, his mind drifting.

He was walking along the road near his house, putting one foot in front of the other. He didn't know where he was going; he didn't seem to have any particular destination in mind. He was just walking aimlessly, unsure of what he was heading towards.

There was a presence behind him. Will could feel it even before he turned around, before his gaze took in the spectacle of what stood there.

A man. No, not a man, not completely. A man with stag's antlers.

The face looked somehow _familiar_. He squinted, trying to make out the features, but they appeared to be as dark as a moonless, starless midnight.

What was it about that face under the antlers that tugged at his memory? Why did he feel that he'd seen that face before, looked into those eyes that now glowed red in the darkness? Who was this person, that they could haunt him so profoundly?

Why couldn't he bring those features into sharper focus? He was looking directly into that face; he _should_ be able to recognize whoever this person was.

And then, with a sudden, clear certainty, he did. Will didn't know just what it was that suddenly blew those mists away, what made him see that face clearly for the first time. He could only put it down to having the scales stripped away from his eyes, to gaining an almost painful clarity.

He saw that face, those eyes, and knew exactly who it was. The shock of recognition jolted him awake; he raised his head, blinking and gasping.

That wasn't at all what he had expected.

At first, his conscious mind refused to believe what he had seen. It was just his imagination fusing with his reality, creating something that hadn't really been there.

But no, that wasn't so. That face, that body .... they had seemed familiar before, but now he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt just _why_ they had been. This was a person he knew intimately, someone who he never would have thought would want to hurt him.

No. It couldn't be. His mind was confusing the stag in his dreams with the person who had attacked him. He wasn't going to believe this new vision. It couldn't be true.

His mind was lying to him. It had to be. It was sending him mixed signals.

He refused to believe what he had seen. Refused it categorically. It wasn't true. His mind was playing tricks on him, trying to turn him inside out.

There was no way that Hannibal could be the person behind his attack. Not the man who was his lover, the man who had taught him so much about himself. Hannibal wouldn't hurt him. Will was sure of that, more sure than he'd ever been of anything in his life.

His mind was taking his place of refuge and turning it into a dark, frightening abode. He wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't going to turn away from his lover.

Will's senses reeled, his thoughts swirling with the implications of what this could mean. He'd never felt so frightened in his life, so .... _lost_. He was wandering around in a daze, completely unsure of what was reality and what had been part of his dreams.

What was he going to do? Why was his mind mixing up images of the person who had so brutally attacked him with the one person he trusted, the one person he could go to for help?

Could he trust Hannibal? Or was this some kind of a warning sign?

Was Hannibal the stag of his dreams? Or was he somehow transferring his visions of his attacker to the man he shared his body with? And _why_ would he do that?

Suddenly, his safe haven didn't seem nearly as safe any more.


	15. More Questions Than Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will realizes that though Hannibal knows nearly everything about him, he knows next to nothing about his lover.

Will trudged through the snowy woods, head down, hands in his pockets.

He didn't want to think about what he thought he'd seen in these snow-covered woods. He wanted to push the image of the stag out of his mind forever.

 _Why_ would he see a stag's antlers superimposed on Hannibal's face? It didn't make sense. And why would he feel that Hannibal was hiding something from him, when his lover had been the person who had been the most concerned about his safety?

He didn't think that Hannibal would ever want to harm him. He was the person who shared Hannibal's bed; he couldn't feel that there was a wall between them.

Yet somehow, he did. Hannibal seemed .... distant.

Will couldn't help thinking that his lover knew something about the person who Will thought had attacked him, the person who was watching him.

He didn't know why such thoughts entered his mind; he wanted to push them away, to deny them, to insist to himself that those thoughts, those doubts, weren't worthy of Hannibal, or of the relationship that the two of them shared. He wanted to deny that such thoughts existed.

He had to trust Hannibal. He had to believe that his lover was on _his_ side, and not let himself be swayed into doubt by visions that probably meant nothing.

How could he think that Hannibal meant him any harm? That was just ridiculous. He would certainly feel a kind of premonition of danger if that was the case.

He trusted Hannibal. The man was his friend and his lover -- and in an odd way, his psychiatrist. Not on a technical level, of course -- they merely talked about Will's state of mind from time to time. He wasn't really a patient. That would be a terrible conflict of interest.

If he had actually been a patient, he doubted that Hannibal would be sleeping with him. He wouldn't cross that kind of an ethical line.

Or would he? Will bit his lip as he mused on the question.

How well did he _really_ know Hannibal? If he was honest, he knew next to nothing about the man who was his lover. Hannibal knew much more about _him_.

Hannibal knew nearly everything there was to know about him, but he kept his past locked away, behind a closed door that Will hadn't tried to open. When Hannibal was ready for that, then he would open that door himself, and usher Will through it.

The snow crunched under Will's feet as he reluctantly turned around to head back to his house, with more questions in his mind than had been there when he'd gone out.

He needed answers to those questions, and he needed them soon.


	16. Without A Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is frustrated by being utterly clueless as to the identity of his mysterious attacker.

It was so frustrating not to have a clue as to what had happened to him.

Well, no, he _knew_ what had happened, Will told himself, scowling. Someone had attacked him while he was sleepwalking. That was obvious.

What he wanted to know was just _who_ had done this to him. He hated feeling as though he was lost, floundering around in search of someone's identity. Though that was a feeling he should be used to by now, he told himself sourly.

After all, he did that in his work all the time, didn't he? He never knew who a killer was when the FBI first began the search for them.

Maybe he should treat this like just another case.

But he couldn't do that so easily, because the victim was himself. He couldn't take a few steps back and look at this dispassionately. He was too close to it.

That would be impossible to do, since he was the intended victim at the middle of it all. And no one else on their team would be able to simply regard this as being just another case, either. Jack certainly didn't. He was more concerned than Will had expected him to be.

Maybe that was just because he thought he would lose his goose that laid the golden eggs if anything were to happen to him, though.

Will's lips twisted in a parody of a smile; he didn't really believe that Jack cared so much about him, not him as a person. Jack cared about losing one of his agents, the one who added to his cachet because he could use a unique ability to catch criminals.

If it wasn't for that ability, Jack really wouldn't give a damn what happened to him. He would be just another agent, one who Jack barely paid attention to.

Friends? He didn't think they were really friends.

Other people on the team weren't really his friends, either. They worked together, and those people might feel a sort of .... _curiosity_ about him, but they weren't close. He couldn't talk to them. Some of them were even wary of him, or resented him.

His ability set him apart from everyone he worked with, just as it had always set him apart from everyone him all of his life. That wasn't going to change.

Will sighed softly, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. He was trying to relax, to let himself push the thoughts about the attack to the back of his mind. Hannibal had wanted to try something new, in the hopes that buried memories might resurface.

Will didn't think it would work, but he was willing to try.

Hannibal had thought that relaxing completely, clearing his mind and pushing all memories away, might be what would make some of them appear.

It was worth a try, Will told himself with a shrug. So he was sitting here, not in the chair that he was usually in when he and Hannibal their sessions, but in the other man's comfortable living room, in a plush chair that he was sure he could fall asleep in.

Oh yes, he could sink in to this chair, curl up and go to sleep. He could be comfortable here all night; all he needed was a blanket and a pillow.

A chair shouldn't be allowed to be this comfortable.

And he shouldn't allow himself to fall asleep, his inner voice reminded him sharply. Yes, he needed to try Hannibal's suggestion, but he couldn't sleep.

Closing his eyes, Will tried to clear his mind, to think about nothing. He tried to let himself float, to push away any and all memories of the attack, to simply drift. But after what felt like a long time, he opened his eyes again, feeling frustrated and wide awake.

The more he _tried_ to clear his mind, the more stubbornly the memories of that night seemed to want to crowd back into his thoughts and not go away.

It was as though his own mind was at war with him, refusing to let him do anything that might help him, that might give him a clue as to his attacker's identity.

This wasn't the first time he'd been at odds with his own mind, but he had never felt this frustrated about it before. Of course, this time, he was trying to solve his _own_ case, to find out who had attacked _him_ , not some person who he had never known.

Things felt very different when he was trying to find out something that related directly to himself. It wasn't a sensation that he was comfortable with.

Neither was being clueless and feeling helpless.

Hannibal strode into the room, sitting down quietly in the chair opposite Will's. Strange, Will thought, that his living room was set up in virtually the same way as his office was.

But that lent the room a sense of familiarity, a comfort that it might not otherwise have had. Will didn't feel awkward or strange being here; he was finding it easy to relax, even though his thoughts wouldn't stop their whirling and dancing in his head.

"Are you managing to take my advice and clear your mind, Will?" Hannibal inquired, one eyebrow raised. "Or is it difficult for you to let your thoughts go?"

"Very difficult," Will admitted with a frown. "I don't think I know how."

"You are not accustomed to pushing your thoughts away, but rather, you have a tendency to embrace them and let them sink into your being," Hannibal told him, shaking his head. "That often isn't healthy, Will. You need to practice clearing your mind."

"That's not as easy as it might sound," Will told him, somehow feeling that he had to be stubborn and make a point. "Especially not for somebody like me."

"That is very true," Hannibal conceded. "For now, perhaps it would be best if you simply tried to think about other subjects, if you let your mind concentrate on something other than your particular situation for a while. To simply get away from it for a bit, not push it away altogether."

That sounded as though it might be simpler for him, Will told himself.

Would he actually be able to do it? That, he wasn't sure of. But he would at least try. There was nothing to be lost by taking Hannibal's advice, was there?

It couldn't hurt. But now that he was sitting here, he wanted to talk about this with Hannibal. Not as if he was a patient talking to his psychiatrist, but as two people simply talking, trying to come up with clues to solve what was a puzzling mystery.

"I still don't have a clue," Will said, his gaze meeting Hannibal's. "Nothing. My mind won't give anything up, and I can't force those memories to come back."

Hannibal nodded, folding his hands in his lap and gazing at Will.

"Without a clue, even one small clue, then our hands are tied -- for the moment," he said, his voice bland and steady. "But we _will_ eventually get to the bottom of this, Will."

"How can you be so sure?" Will asked, knowing that he sounded irritated, but unable to keep that tone out of his voice. "How do you know that my mind is ever going to capitulate and give us what we need? How do you know that it won't just be a mystery forever?"

He didn't want to seem so skeptical of Hannibal's words. He wanted to believe that this man spoke the truth, but he was already so frustrated and angry.

"Because --" Hannibal leaned forward, his gaze meeting Will's and not looking away, "I believe that the man who attacked you will show himself again. I don't believe that he did it as a one-time attempt, Will. I think that he may want you dead."

"And you think that he'll try again, after enough time has passed for me to be lulled into some false sense of security," Will said, his voice soft and thoughtful.

He hadn't thought of that. Not at all.

He had been so focused on the idea that the man who had attacked him had just done so out of rage, out of the fact that he'd been there, an opportune victim, that he hadn't thought of the fact that this might be some person who wanted to get rid of him.

Well, no, he _had_ thought of the possibility that it could be someone who wanted to settle some kind of score with him, but he'd dismissed the idea.

Now, Hannibal's words were forcing him to look at it again -- and he didn't like what he saw there. His mind could put two and two together better than most people's could, and it could also jump to conclusions more quickly. He didn't like any of the conclusions that he saw.

No matter which way he turned, this situation was dangerous.

"There _will_ eventually be light at the end of the tunnel, Will," Hannibal told him, his voice still soft and quiet. "You simply have to wait for it to come to you."

Will nodded, thought the motion was drawn from him reluctantly. He wasn't sure that he agreed with the other man on this; it already seemed to have taken so long, and he was still without a clue as to just who his assailant might be -- and why they had chosen _him_.

He hoped it wasn't for some sinister purpose that he didn't know about. Because if it was, then he was in even more danger than he'd imagined himself to be.

At the moment, that was the last thing he needed to deal with.


	17. Lucid Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's dreams about his attacker are becoming more and more disturbing.

He was watching himself.

There he was, walking down the road near his home, wearing nothing but the boxers and t-shirt he'd gone to bed in, barefoot, his eyes wide open.

He didn't _look_ as though he was sleepwalking, but he had to be. There was no other explanation for what he was doing; he wouldn't be ambling down the road in the middle of the night for any other reason. He wasn't in the habit of taking moonlight walks.

And he didn't _look_ as though he was focused on anything, or heading to any particular place. He was just walking, slowly putting one foot in front of the other.

Will frowned, wondering why he was seeing himself.

He was sleeping. He was dreaming. He _had_ to be. But why was he dreaming about seeing himself sleepwalk -- and why was this such a lucid dream?

It took Will a moment to realize that the eyes he was seeing through weren't his own -- and that the mad thoughts running through the back of his mind weren't his own, either. He didn't know whose they were, but he _knew_ that they didn't belong to him.

 _Kill._ That was the prime directive that his brain was giving him -- and that word, that single thought, was focused on _himself_.

He couldn't stop himself as he put one of his own feet forward, taking a step towards his sleepwalking self. His arm raised, and only then did he realize that he was holding .... a hammer.

He was going to attack the man who was sleepwalking on the road. Will struggled to wake up, to come out of the dream before his mind showed him something that he didn't want to see, something that he couldn't yet manage to put together coherently.

No. This wasn't going to happen. He _had_ to wake up, had to come out of this dream, had to keep himself from doing something he would regret ....

And then his eyes snapped open, to stare up at the ceiling over his bed.

Will placed a hand on his heart; it was beating in triple-time, so rapidly that for just a moment, he wondered if he could be having a heart attack.

He took in great gulps of air, closing his eyes, trying to clear his mind. But the image of himself walking in the middle of the road, obviously asleep and vulnerable to anyone who might try to harm him, stayed with him, etched crystal-clear in his mind.

He had to tell Hannibal about this -- and probably Jack, too. Seeing through the eyes of killers was one thing -- but seeing _himself_ through a killer's eyes was quite another.

It was a vision that Will sincerely hoped he would never have to see again.


	18. Grasping At Straws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will remembers one detail about the night he was attacked that he hadn't been able to recall before.

"So, you saw your attacker sneaking up behind you in a dream, is that it?"

Will nodded slowly, his gaze on Hannibal. "What do you think it means? Does that mean he's getting closer? Should I be looking over my shoulder?"

Hannibal frowned, steepling his fingers under his chin. Will had the feeling that the other man was searching for exactly the right words to say, words that would calm and soothe, even if they weren't necessarily just what he was feeling, or what his real convictions were.

When Hannibal finally spoke again, his voice was soft, but the words were firm. "Yes, Will, I believe that you should. I believe that your unconscious mind is trying to tell you something."

Will wasn't sure if he was surprised by those words or not.

"What can you remember about the dream, Will?" Hannibal was staring at him intently now, as though he was willing those memories to come to the forefront.

Will tried to concentrate, tried to bring the disturbing visions back into his mind. He tried to remember the dreams he'd had, and the actual attack -- but the only thing that came to mind at the moment was what he had seen in sky, shining brightly above him.

"The moon," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "The moon was shining. It was really bright, a big full one. The moon made it almost as bright as day."

Hannibal nodded, looking thoughtful. "So .... perhaps the full moon has something to do with why this man attacked you. That could be a place to start."

"What? Do you think he's a werewolf?" Will couldn't but let out a laugh at that idea. "Hannibal, you can be a little weird sometimes, but that's just something out of a fantasy novel. I'm not Little Red Riding Hood, and the Big Bad Wolf isn't waiting to gobble me up."

Hannibal's smile looked strained; Will felt a pang of guilt at his laughter. Obviously that wasn't what had been meant; Hannibal was trying to offer suggestions.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I wasn't making fun of you. Honestly."

"I know you weren't." Hannibal's expression had cleared; had Will only imagined that flash of annoyance he thought he had glimpsed in those dark eyes?

He struggled to hold on to the image in his mind; he wished that bright moon had illuminated the face of his attacker, or had at least given him some indication as to what the man _might_ look like. But that mental image remained stubbornly dark; he couldn't bring a face into focus.

Still, if he concentrated hard enough, maybe he would be able to think of something about the man that had stood out in that bright moonlight. It was worth a try.

He was grasping at straws, but at the moment, it was all he had to go on.


	19. Still Light Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is unsure of how he feels about walking in the woods, even in broad daylight with a companion.

"It's still light outside." Will took a deep breath, looking over at Hannibal. "that means that I shouldn't be afraid to take a walk in the woods, right?"

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at him, then frowned.

"You have me with you at the moment," he said, his voice very soft. "But don't forget, Will, that you shouldn't be walking here by yourself. Especially after dark. In the daytime, you can defend yourself -- but as well as you may know these woods, I believe that your assailant knows them better."

Will had no answer for that; he had the uncomfortable feeling that Hannibal was right.

If the person who had attacked him was indeed stalking him, and spying on his house every night, then there was nothing he could do about it.

He simply had to wait and hope that he could catch the bastard unawares Unless they thought his life was in imminent peril, the FBI wasn't going to assign a protective detail to him. And he didn't want that, not really. It would feel too ... intrusive.

So what did he do now? Will sighed, accepting the inevitable.

He simply had to wait for his attacker to make another move. There were no other options open. He'd just have to be vigilant -- which meant constantly looking over his shoulder.

He hated that. But again, what choice did he have? There were no easy answers, no matter which way he turned, or how hard he looked for them.

"Come on," he said, glancing at Hannibal as he stepped off the porch. "Let's go for a walk."


	20. Ripples on the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is finding it harder to talk to Hannibal about his innermost feelings.

Will shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down at the ground as he and Hannibal followed the path through the woods that led to the lake.

He didn't know what to say; he didn't particularly feel like making conversation. There was so much on his mind, so much that he would probably feel better if he talked about it. But somehow, the words got stuck in his throat when he thought about talking to Hannibal.

He didn't know why he was so reluctant to talk to this man. After all, Hannibal was his friend, wasn't he? He shouldn't feel that there was a barrier between them.

But there was, even if it was one that couldn't be seen.

Was he just being stupid about talking to Hannibal because he was afraid that if he did, their relationship would start to grow closer?

Will wasn't sure that he could deal with that idea, especially not at this point in his life. He wanted to get closer to Hannibal, but at the same time, something held him back, some feeling that if he moved in that direction, he would bitterly regret doing so.

Why didn't he feel like he could talk to the man who he'd started to become used to going to for any kind of advice he needed about his life?

For some reason, he was starting to feel that there was something not quite _right_ about Hannibal. He didn't know why, but he had the definite feeling that there was something about this man that he needed to be careful of, something that could be deadly to him.

Will had no idea why he felt that way, but he'd learned long ago to trust his instincts, and not to back away from them when they spoke to him this strongly.

Hannibal wasn't all that he seemed to be.

Why would he think that? he asked himself. Why was his gut telling him that there was something about the man he needed to beware of?

And what could ti be that his gut instincts were telling him to watch out for? As far as he knew, there was nothing dangerous about Hannibal, other than the fact that he was one of the most startlingly intelligent men Will had ever met.

That intelligence was almost frightening at times -- along with the fact that there were moments when this man seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

There was something about Hannibal that made him want to distance himself, to back away and observe, not to get himself involved with anything in Hannibal's life.

Something told him that there were issues with Hannibal that went beyond the things they talked about in their impromptu sessions, things that were more important than life and death. Things that could make life and death look trivial.

And a part of him wanted to push that knowledge away, to pretend that his relationship with Hannibal was casual, that they were simply friends and colleagues.

But underneath, it was more than that.

Will couldn't help feeling that in a way, Hannibal was obsessed with him -- and that in itself was more than a little scary. He didn't like being the object of such scrutiny.

He knew that Hannibal was angry at whoever it was that had attacked him -- and he couldn't help wondering how far this man who he considered a friend would go to bring his attacker to justice. Was Hannibal the kind of person who would mete out his own version of justice?

The thought was terrifying, especially as he was sure that Hannibal would stop at nothing to secure that justice if he felt that he could do so.

Just how far would Hannibal go, and what would he do? Will didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to contemplate what Hannibal might be capable of doing. There were secrets hidden behind that inscrutable gaze, glimpses of a determination that sent a cold chill down his spine.

Even now, walking down the twilit path with Hannibal, when he should feel calm and safe, he felt uneasy, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

What could possibly happen? Why were his senses so primed for disaster?

Will didn't glance over at Hannibal as they walked along; he simply kept his gaze focused on the path, his hands jammed into his pockets, not speaking.

What could he say? He didn't want to bring up the fact that he suddenly felt uncomfortable conversing with Hannibal; that would lead to questions that he wouldn't be able to answer, questions that he didn't _want_ to answer because he wasn't sure of what he would say.

There seemed to be so much to say, but he didn't know where to start. He would simply have to rely on Hannibal to be the one who started a conversation.

But Hannibal seemed content to walk by his side in silence.

He didn't know what was going on between them, but whatever it was, Hannibal seemed to feel it, too. He didn't even glance at Will; he simply looked around him, a small smile curving his lips.

What was Hannibal thinking? What was hidden behind that enigmatic gaze, behind those dark eyes that Will always felt held secrets that might be terrifying to know? Whatever he was thinking, Will was sure that it was something to do with the two of them.

When they finally reached the lake, Will stood there, staring out at the water before he bent to pick up a pebble, throwing it into the smooth, still surface.

The ripples that spread out on that surface seemed to symbolize his life; all of the things in his life that Will felt were more important than life and death radiated outward from himself, spreading slowly to where Hannibal stood, and moved to encompass them both.

He had to talk to Hannibal, Will realized. No matter how difficult it was, he had to bring this man into his world, had to reach out and try to trust him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Instead, he simply stood there, feeling that he was frozen inside himself, unable to utter a single syllable.


	21. Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will worries that talking about his fears to Hannibal will make his lover see him as being weak and ineffectual.

"Talk to me, Will." Hannibal's voice was very soft, but it was a firm command.

This wasn't a request, Will realized. Hannibal _expected_ him to talk, to get everything that he was feeling offh is chest. But he didn't know where to start.

"I don't know what to say," he finally managed to mutter, not looking at the other man. "There's a lot I could talk about, I guess, but you'd know whether or not it was just a lot of crap that doesn't really get at what I'm thinking and feeling. You know me pretty well that way."

Hannibal nodded, looking over at the younger man. "Yes, Will, I do," he said, his voice soft and quiet. "And I know you well enough to know that you need to speak about what's bothering you."

Will sighed, acknowledging Hannibal's words as the truth.

Yes, he _did_ need to talk about everything that had been going on. If he didn't, then he'd drive himself crazy by thinking about it all, turning it over in his mind without ever coming to a satisfactory conclusion. The questions he had would never be answered if he didn't ask them.

But at the same time, he didn't want to talk about what had happened. He couldn't help thinking that it would only cast him in the unpalatable role of a victim, and he didn't want that.

Still, what good would silence do? It would only isolate him more, and make him feel even more alone than he already did. That wasn't the way to go, either.

if he could talk to anyone about this, it was Hannibal. He had the feeling that this man wouldn't judge him, or expect more from him than he was willing to give. Hannibal wasn't going to see him as a victim. No, Hannibal would merely see him as someone to be helped, someone who needed a shoulder to lean on.

Did that make him seem weak? And did that really matter at the moment?

What did it matter if the one person who could see inside him, who understood him in so many ways, thought he was weak about this one issue? Maybe it was a good thing.

He couldn't always present himself to Hannibal as being strong and capable -- that would make him seem as though he had no reason to have Hannibal in his life. It would make his boyfriend feel as though he had no place, and that was the last thing that Will wanted.

Because the truth was, he needed Hannibal more than ever. His weakness could be Hannibal's strength; he could be bolstered by the man who was his lover, which was the way it should be.

His gaze met Hannibal's, and he realized that the other man was patiently waiting for him to speak.


	22. Jumping Off the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes to a chilling conclusion as to the truth behind his assailant's identity.

"I feel like I'm ready to jump off the edge," Will said quietly, not able to meet Hannibal's gaze with his own. "Like I'm being pushed to do that, whether I want to or not."

Hannibal frowned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Will, that doesn't sound good at all," he said, his voice very quiet. "If you feel that you are being pushed to harm yourself, then this person who harmed you truly _does_ need to be caught."

"I ...." Will's voice trailed off; he didn't want to put forth the theory that he'd come up with. "I don't think it's a person that harmed me. I think we've been looking for the wrong thing."

He hated to admit this, hated to think that he could be so far off the rails that his theory could possibly be the truth. But if he didn't talk with Hannibal about it, who else could he talk to? This man was supposed to be his psychiatrist, after all, albeit in a roundabout way.

"What is it, Will?" Hannibal's gaze seemed to bore into him, as though his lover was trying to reach to the very depths of his soul and dredge up what was hidden there.

Will took a deep breath, still not looking into the other man's eyes. He had to say this, had to get it out into the open, no matter what Hannibal might think of him.

Still, it was so hard to force the words out, to admit what he was thinking.

"I-I think I might have been the one who hurt myself," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think _I_ did it, Hannibal. I couldn't tell you why, but I think I'm the culprit."

Hannibal sat back, raising his brows, looking surprised. Will glanced at him, feeling a flush come into his own cheeks. He hadn't wanted to say those words, hadn't wanted to see the shocked look on his lover's face, but there it was, as plain as day. He wondered what Hannibal's assessment would be.

"I see," Hannibal said, the words coming out slowly and hanging in the air. "Why would you think this, Will? Has there been some breakthrough in your memory?"

Will shook his head, sighing as he did so, wondering what he should say.

"I just don't see any other explanation," he said, choosing his words carefully. "If it had actually been another person, I think I'd have remembered something about him by now."

How could he explain this so that it made sense? It didn't really even make sense in his own mind; he was still puzzling it out, wondering just how he had come to this pass. But he was becoming more and more sure that he had somehow done this to himself, that it was his own psyche trying to tell him something.

"I know what I see," he continued, heaving another sigh. "I see a man with a stag's head. It's weird, I know. But it's not a mask. It's a half-man, half-stag. So it can't be _real_."

That much he knew. What he saw wasn't possible, not in this world; it _had_ to be a dream, a hallucination. It was something out of his own mind, not something that actually existed.

There was no other explanation. He didn't think that an actual _person_ could have attacked him, even though it was what everyone seemed to think had happened. He was more and more sure, the more he pondered it, that he'd done this to himself, for some reason that he couldn't fathom.

 _Why_ would his unconscious mind do something like this? Was he trying to punish himself for something? Or was his mind trying desperately to tell him something .... or to _warn_ him?

Will sat back, his blue eyes widening at that thought.

He hadn't considered that before. A warning? But what could his mind be trying to warn him about? There didn't seem to be any immediate danger around him -- except what his mind was doing to him.

Of course, his job was dangerous, but that was a given. Anyone who worked for the FBI, or in any of the branches of law enforcement, lived with a certain amount of danger. And since he worked in the field these days more than within his classroom, he had to expect danger to be a part of his life.

But he didn't think it was his job that his mind was possibly trying to warn him about. No, it felt as though those warnings were pointing to something within his personal life, something heretofore unseen.

He felt as though he was being pushed ever closer to the edge of a precipice.

Sooner or later, he would have to jump off, to try to leap the yawning abyss beneath him. Could he make it to the other side safely, without falling into that abyss?

If he fell, then he would never be able to crawl out again. He would spend his life wandering in that stygian darkness, forever searching for a way out that he would never find.

Will knew that he was on the edge of that darkness, and that if he wasn't given a reason to step away from it, he would hurl himself off the edge, in an attempt to leap the abyss. Maybe he would make it, and maybe he wouldn't. But the best alternative would be not to jump at all.

Could he keep himself from doing that? Could Hannibal keep him from it? He didn't know. But he knew that at this point, he _had_ to reach out to his lover, in the hope that he could hold on.

"It may not be real, Will," Hannibal said, his voice very soft. "It may be all in your mind. And if it is, then we have to find out exactly _why_ you are conjuring this .... vision."

Will nodded slowly, knowing that Hannibal was right.

He didn't want to ask the question that hovered within his mind. He didn't want to know if there was some possibility that it _wasn't_ just a vision, if what he thought he saw could possibly exist.

As though Hannibal had divined his thoughts, he shook his head, still gazing directly at Will. "No, I do not think that this .... person, or whatever you wish to call it, could exist in the waking world. I believe it is a combination of all the demons that chase you, Will. It isn't something that can follow you into the real world."

Will finally lifted his head and looked Hannibal directly in the eye, knowing that he needed to get a definitive answer. He couldn't settle for less. "If it can't, then how did I get those bruises?"

Hannibal opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again and shook his head.

Maybe he would have to jump off the edge to find the answers to his questions. And it was very possible that he wouldn't make it across, that he would get lost in that darkness and be lost forever.


	23. No Coming Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is beginning to feel as though he's slipping into an alternate universe -- one that he eventually won't be able to return from.

Hannibal couldn't be right about this.

His mind couldn't be going completely off the rails. He wasn't _that_ unstable.

He couldn't simply be conjuring up his attacker within his own mind. If that was the case, then he wouldn't have bruises all over him.

An assailant couldn't follow him from his own mind into the real world. The only answer to that theory was that he himself had give him those bruises -- and the idea that he could be harming himself and not know it scared im more than Will had ever thought anything possibly could.

If that was indeed what had happened, then he couldn't trust his own mind. He had more serious mental problems than he had known, and he was falling apart at the seams.

He didn't want to believe that of himself.

Will felt as though he was living in some strange alternate universe, one where everything he knew about himself was turned upside down and inside out. When he looked at his own face in the mirror, he felt as though there was a complete stranger looking back at him.

He looked the same, but the presence staring back at him was .... different.

He didn't recognize the person he saw behind his own eyes. And that realization was more frightening than anything he could have possibly seen reflected there.

It would be better if there _was_ some concrete example of the person who'd attacked him, Will told himself. At least then he wouldn't think he was slowly losing his mind.

He could feel himself losing touch with reality, a tiny bit at a time.

That idea terrified him; he had always thought that he was a sane and rational person, in spite of his empathic ability. He'd always prided himself on having both feet planted squarely on the ground, on living in reality. But now, it seemed that his mind was taking him to places he didn't want to go.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He was feeling more and more detached from the real world the longer this situation went on; the things that he was sure he'd seen couldn't possibly belong to this realm.

If he _was_ sometimes living in some kind of strange alternate universe, there might come a time when, in the deep subconscious of his mind, he would slip into that universe and never come back out again. That was what scared more than anything else.

Will had the feeling that he inched closer to that line that separated this universe from another with each passing day -- and that there would come a time when he would cross that line irrevocably.

When that happened, he would be past the point of no return.

There would be no way out, and no coming back.


	24. End of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal have reached the end of one road in their search to find out who could have attacked Will.

"I think that we may have reached the end of the road in this situation, Will."

Will looked up at Hannibal, horrified at what he was saying. "What do you mean? Do you think that I just need to stop trying to figure out who might have done this to me?"

Hannibal nodded slowly, letting out his breath by increments. Will wondered if he'd been holding his breath, if he'd been reluctant to say the words that he'd just uttered.

The other man shook his head, frowning. "I don't think that you should give up completely, Will, but I think that you may want to accept the fact that you did this to yourself, that there was no other person who attacked you. The stag in your drams .... may well symbolise the dark side of yourself."

Will sat back in his chair, his blue eyes widening. He hadn't really given that thought any credence; it had crossed his mind, but he's shoved it away immediately.

He didn't want to think that he could be so unstable as to harm himself. He didn't want to think that his own mind could become _that_ unhinged.

If that was the case, then something was definitely wrong with him.

It was much easier to believe that he had been attacked by some random person, someone who wanted to do him harm. It wasn't nearly as frightening as the alternative.

The idea that he was losing his mind to that extent terrified him. What would happen to him if he _was_ going crazy? Would he be committed? Institutionalized?

What would happen to his dogs, to his house? What would happen to _him_? He didn't think that doctors still used treatments like electroshock therapy, but if they did, would he be subjected to something like that? Would his mind be utterly and completely lost to him?

The thought of wandering around forever within the wasteland that his own mind could become, unable to find his way back into reality, was more frightening than anything else he could imagine.

"So, if we've reached the end of the line, where am I supposed to go from here?" Will asked, his voice shaking slightly. "Do I have myself committed, Hannibal? Do I just .... give up?"

Hannibal looked shocked at the thought. "Committed? I don't think you need to go that far, Will. After all, you aren't a danger to others. Only to yourself, when you're in .... a certain state." The other man looked thoughtful for a moment. "And I don't think that you would go so far as to actually take your own life."

Wouldn't he? Will had to wonder about that. If there was a part of his psyche that hated who he was so much, then he might be fully capable of doing just that.

But he wasn't going to bring that up to Hannibal. Because in his heart, he wasn't entirely convinced that what he'd gone through had been caused by his own hands.

He didn't think that he would cause harm to himself. He couldn't.

"I might be willing to accept the fact that I could have done this to myself once," he said slowly, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't keep doing it. I'm not that self-destructive."

Hannibal's brows knitted in a frown; then he mirrored Will's movements, nodding and looking as though he was going over something in his own mind. "I happen to agree with you, Will."

Will felt an overwhelming sense of relief at those words. If Hannibal agreed that he wouldn't harm himself over and over again, then he had someone on his side, someone who had more knowledge about the human mind than he himself did. Someone who others would listen to and respect.

He didn't have to feel that he was alone, or that he was fighting a losing battle. He had Hannibal by his side, and if he was lucky, they would figure this out together.

He was still convinced that it was a person who had attacked him, and that his mind was associating that person with something frightening, something that he didn't understand.

Together, he and Hannibal would get to the bottom of things.

It might not be the easiest thing he'd ever done to try and delve into his psyche, but with Hannibal there beside him, he would be able to do it successfully.

Will took a deep breath, looking into Hannibal's eyes and trying to keep his tone light. "Well, then, where do you think we should we start?" he asked, giving himself over to Hannibal's guidance. He had to trust this man to lead him; he was now in unfamiliar territory.

If they'd come to the end of the road in one regard, then they were just beginning to take another path. Will hoped that it was one that could lead to the solution of this mystery.

Because if it wasn't solved soon, then he would have nowhere else to turn.


	25. Just Out of Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is sure that he has a flesh and blood enemy, but that person's identity hovers in the darkness around the edges of his mind.

He should have been more careful of what he wished for.

Will sighed softly, burying his face in his pillow. He had wished to get to the end of the all this, and now it looked as though he had done so.

He might very well have to accept the fact that no one had hurt him, that there wasn't some enemy out there who was looking to harm him.

He _could_ have done this to himself. And the more that Hannibal brought up that idea, the more he wanted to believe it. It was starting to seem rather far-fetched to think that he had some invisible enemy, and even more so for him to believe that it was some mythical stag.

A man with the head of a stag? He had to be insane to think that could ever happen. It was some hallucination, some strange dream creature that his mind had conjured up.

But still .... somehow, he couldn't help thinking that the man's body looked familiar. He couldn't quite place where he had seen that body before, couldn't bring it out of his memory.

It was just so familiar, so .... _mesmerizing_.

But try as he might to bring who it might be into focus, the memory of where he'd seen that body before remained just out of reach, tempting and tantalizing.

It was maddening to know that his mind hid something from him, holding it just out of reach, dangling it like a carrot in front of a hungry horse.

Yet he couldn't bring that memory out of the shadows of his mind, couldn't crystallize it in his mind's eye. Will turned over, opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling, wishing more than ever that he could find an answer to this, the _right_ answer, and be done with the mystery once and for all.

The biggest question in his mind was just _why_ he would have done something like this to himself. He didn't feel that he deserved it, not in any way.

Hannibal would probably say that his unconscious mind found him unworthy in some way, but Will didn't think that was the case. He didn't think that badly of himself.

Even his unconscious mind wouldn't want him to harm itself, no matter how much he might deem himself as being an unworthy person in the recesses of his own psyche. He didn't really believe for a moment that he had self-harmed, that he had caused those bruises with his own hands.

No, there _had_ been some attacker. But he couldn't make himself believe that the vision out of his own mind had been real. There was no such thing as men with stags' heads.

 _That_ had been some bizarre invention out of his own mind, because he hadn't wanted to see who had done this to him. He hadn't wanted to admit it was them.

Which meant that it had to be someone he knew.

Possibly even someone he trusted, Will told himself grimly. But who could it be? There weren't that many people in his life who could take on that kind of a guise.

There weren't that many people in his life, period. And he trusted them all. He would never for a moment think that any of them would want to harm him.

He'd wished to have all of this end, this uncertainty and his burgeoning fear of what could be inside his own mind that would want to hurt him physically. But now Will wished that he'd been more careful about what he had wished for, since it felt as though he'd opened a Pandora's box.

He was still sure that there couldn't be anything so horribly wrong with his mind that he would unconsciously try to harm himself. He wasn't that far gone.

And the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he _did_ have a flesh and blood enemy, someone who was coming after him.

But how did he _find_ that person and bring them to justice?

At the moment, that was what he wished he could do, more than anything in the world. Just find whoever this person was, and put them behind bars, where they belonged.

Was it someone close to him? Will considered the thought for a moment, then pushed it firmly away from him. No, that couldn't be the case. No one who knew him well would wish this kind of torment on him. No one who was close to him could possibly want to hurt him.

Whoever it was, they would eventually slip up, and they would be caught. He had to believe that. If he didn't, then he would sink into despair, and live his life looking over his shoulder.

That was something he definitely _didn't_ wish for in his future.


	26. Don't Want These Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wants the memories of his horrifying experience to disappear almost as much as he wants definitive answers to his questions.

He didn't want to deal with these memories any longer.

Will sighed softly, pressing both hands to the sides of his head as he sat up in bed. He hadn't been able to sleep at all last night; there was too much on his mind.

He hadn't really wanted to sleep, anyway. He was sure that if he did, the memories -- visions? dreams? -- would come back to him in even more detail.

He was tired of dealing with the whole situation; he wanted to put it behind him, to let it go. But he knew that wasn't going to be possible; he wouldn't be able to get any peace of mind until he _knew_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, just who -- or _what_ \-- had attacked him.

It wasn't something that he'd done to himself. He had examined that theory from every direction, and he categorically rejected it. That wasn't possible.

He wouldn't harm himself. He wasn't the kind of person to do himself injury. It simply .... wasn't him, no matter what any other person might think.

Hannibal was wrong about this. He had to be.

No one, not even the man who was technically his psychiatrist, was going to convince him that he was the sort of person who self-harmed. He would never believe it.

Self-harm wasn't something that he would be able to do. He didn't want to die, and he didn't enjoy pain. So anyone who thought that was completely off the mark.

He would fight against that theory with everything that he had. He hadn't wanted to accept it when Hannibal had first brought it up, and the more he thought about it, the more he _knew_ that it wasn't true. He wouldn't harm himself. He had too much of a sense of self-preservation.

It didn't matter if circumstances might point in that direction; Will was convinced that someone else had attacked him, and that they would do so again.

If he went sleepwalking again -- and he was sure that he would; it seemed to be a given with him -- he didn't doubt that his enemy would seize that opportunity.

He didn't doubt for one second that whoever had attacked him and given him all those bruises once would do it again. And the next time, they might not stop at bruises. He could be physically violated -- or even killed. In his sleepwalking state, he doubted that he could protect himself.

Of course, if he was attacked, he _should_ be able to wake up and defend himself -- but if he hadn't done it the first time, who was to say that he would awaken when he needed to?

Will shivered at the thought of someone manhandling him, ending his life without his conscious knowledge. The very idea made his blood run cold.

But then, so did the few memories he had of what had happened.

He didn't want those memories any more. He wanted them to simply vanish, to stop haunting him, to stop making him feel as though he had been a helpless victim.

That was what bothered him the most, Will told himself, sighing again. He hated the fact that he _had_ been made a victim, that he hadn't been able to protect himself.

Hannibal insisted that his sleepwalking episodes were becoming more dangerous, and maybe he was right. But Will had no idea of how to stop them -- beyond trying not to sleep. Of course, that solution wouldn't work for long; he'd have to fall asleep at some point, and he could very well sleepwalk.

So what was he going to do? He had no idea, but he knew that he couldn't keep on in the way he was going, or he would drive himself completely insane.

He had to get more sleep, that was for sure. He could keep going on caffeine for a while, but sooner or later, he would end up collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

Somehow, he had to find a solution to all of this.

Was there a solution? Or would be spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering if he was going to fall asleep and be attacked again as he sleepwalked, his mind a blank?

Will took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. All of his thoughts felt as though they were swirling around helplessly, floundering, unable to find purchase anywhere. And the memories, the ones that he wanted to block out of his mind, were replaying themselves over and over again.

What little he _could_ remember, that was. And he didn't even know if they were absolutely true, or if they were simply a vision, a trick that his mind had played on him.

Maybe he would never know. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to find out.

But he _had_ to, or risk letting all of this eat away at him from the inside. The memories would devour him at some point if he didn't manage to make his peace with them.

Taking a deep breath, Will swung his legs out of bed and got to his feet, stretching. Right now, he needed caffeine, and a lot of it, if he wanted to get through this day.


	27. I See You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has a somewhat strange proposition for Will.

"I can see how confused you are, Will. And I want to help you."

Will shook his head, feeling more frustrated than he had in a long time. "I don't think you can help me, Hannibal. I have to do this by myself. It's the only way."

"Why do you think that having another person along for the ride, so to speak, will not help you?" Hannibal sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, a frown furrowing his brow.

"Because this is between me and whoever is doing this to me," Will said, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. Why couldn't he get that point across to Hannibal? Was the other man deliberately misunderstanding him, or was Hannibal trying to tell him something?

Well, what it might be that Hannibal wanted him to know, he would have to spit it out. Will was tired of trying to divine meanings from oblique phrases.

"If you want to say something, then just say it out front, Hannibal," he finally said, meeting the other man's gaze with his own. "In plan words. Just spell it out for me."

He didn't avert his gaze, just kept staring into Hannibal's dark eyes.

Finally, Hannibal nodded, leaning forward as he spoke. "I see you, Will. I see you more clearly than anyone else can. Possibly even more clearly than you can see yourself."

Will raised his brows, not quite knowing what Hannibal was getting at. "Yes, you've always been able to see into me, Hannibal. I've known that since we had our first session."

"I think that in conjuring up this person who's bruised you, attacked you, that you're reaching out for something that even you may not realise you need -- or desire," Hannibal continued, his words slow and measured. "But I can see what you need, Will. I see it as clearly as sunlight on water."

Will swallowed hard; the intensity of Hannibal's gaze was almost beginning to frighten him. What was this man getting at? What did Hannibal think he needed -- and wanted?

"So tell me what it is that you think I need," he managed to say, knowing that it might be dangerous to give Hannibal an opening like this, but feeling that he had to do so.

"I think you need someone to look after you, Will," Hannibal said, gazing into his young lover's eyes. "More than simply a boyfriend, more than the relationship that you and I have now. I think you need .... a master. Someone to give you all that you need, without you having to think about it."

Will knew that his mouth was hanging open at Hannibal's words; he couldn't seem to close it. What the hell was his lover talking about? He needed a _master_?

What did he think their lives were, some kind of bad outtakes from that hideous fifty shades crap? He couldn't believe that Hannibal was telling him this.

Was _this_ what Hannibal had always thought of him?

"You think I need to be _controlled_?" he finally managed to say. "That I can't think for myself?" A kernel of anger was growing inside of him, at an exponential rate.

Did his lover really think that he needed someone to keep him under some kind of control? Was that what Hannibal meant by needing a "master?" 

"I don't want to control you completely, Will." Hannibal was shaking his head, his voice gentle. "I merely meant that you need someone to take away all of your confusion, someone to make your path clearer. And as I am the man who you've chosen as your lover, I believe that I can fill that purpose."

Will leaned forward, intrigued by Hannibal's words in spite of himself. He wanted to know exactly what his boyfriend meant, wanted those words clarified.

He wanted everything between them to be crystal-clear before he agreed to anything, but the idea of having his path clarified for him was one that he couldn't simply walk away from.

Yes, he needed to have his future made clearer. And maybe Hannibal could do that.

"I see you, Will," Hannibal said, his gaze riveted to Will's. "I see you clearly,and I want you to see yourself just as well. I'm sure that in time, you will. But you need guidance."

Slowly, Will nodded, wondering if he was doing the right thing, but feeling unable to stop himself. "Okay, if I agree to let you be my .... master, just how will this work?"

"You will surrender yourself to me, in ways that you haven't before," Hannibal told him, his voice growing stronger as he continued to speak. "You will let me guide you down the path to your destiny, Will. And you will let me lift this burden from your shoulders. You don't need to keep carrying it."

Slowly, deliberately, Will nodded, wondering if he was being foolish to agree to this. He didn't like the thought of having to relinquish all control to Hannibal, but maybe they could compromise there.

"We'll need to talk about some things before I agree to this," he said, hoping that Hannibal would either back away from the idea, or agree to his words.

Hannibal nodded, a small smile curving his lips.

"Of course we will," he said, his voice very soft, almost like a caress. Will suddenly felt as if they were in the bedroom, and Hannibal had just released warm breath onto his bare skin.

Taking a deep breath, Will made up his mind, quickly saying the words that he knew were needed between them before things could move forward any further. "If you can help me with all of this, help me find some resolution in my mind, then I'll be whatever you need me to be," he said, swallowing again.

"I intend to do just that, Will." Hannibal's voice was stronger than ever, as was his firm clasp when he reached out a hand to take Will's. "You _will_ have closure."

Will hoped that he was right, as he looked at their clasped hands.

Where was this going? Had he gotten himself into more than he would be able to handle by agreeing to Hannibal's odd proposition? What would happen between them now?

Those were questions that he couldn't answer. But somehow, the fact that Hannibal could _see_ him, into him, gave him an odd sense of something much like comfort.


	28. The Definition of Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as he asks himself whether relinquishing control to Hannibal is the right thing to do, Will knows that he's already made the decision.

If Hannibal was his master, did that make him a slave?

Will frowned at himself in the mirror, making a face. He didn't like the sound of that. He was no one's slave. He didn't take orders, like a dog on a leash.

He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to do this, but he felt that he didn't have a choice. Hannibal was right about one thing: He _did_ need a clearer view of his future.

if Hannibal being his master, giving him guidance, taking over the reins of his life, could do that, then he was all for it. He just wasn't sure that he liked the term _master_. He would have to talk to Hannibal about that, and find out just what the rules were, how far this would go.

He had a feeling that once they had put this into motion -- _if_ he agreed to it, which he wasn't at all sure yet that he would do -- there would be no turning back.

A part of him was terrified that he would relinquish too much control of his life to Hannibal, and that he would never be able to get that control back again, even if he needed it.

And he _would_ need that control. He knew he would.

Letting someone else take over the reins of his life was something that he'd never considered before. It would take a lot of patience -- and a lot of trust.

Did he have that kind of trust in Hannibal? Will hesitated, unsure as to how he would answer that question. It wasn't an asy one for him to contemplate, much less have a ready answer for.

He'd never trusted anyone very much, even when he was a child. He'd always wondered if he was crazy for being like that, because everyone else he knew seemed to give their trust so easily. Over the long years that had laid ahead, he had come to think of himself as being a little crazy.

But his crazy was a _good_ kind, he kept reminding himself. His crazy had a healthy dose of paranoia mixed in with it, and that crazy kept him safe and protected.

He'd begun to re-evaluate his definition of crazy lately, and he now had to wonder if his own particular brand of it hadn't been as good for him as he had previously thought it was.

Was he even crazier to even be contemplating Hannibal's offer? He didn't want to be anyone's slave, no even this man's. Even though he more or less did nearly everything that Hannibal advised him to do already, he didn't want to lose his own control over his decisions.

Though he had to admit that it _would_ feel good to have the stress and strain of making too many decisions taken out of his own hands and placed on someone else's shoulders for a change.

Will sighed softly, running a hand through his dark curls. He wasn't sure if he was sinking more deeply into his own brand of crazy, or if he was doing the right thing.

By the time he knew the answer to that, it would be too late to turn back.

Was it crazy to jump into this? If it was, then he had gone off the deep end. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he'd already made up his mind.

He was going to do this. He was going to relinquish control to Hannibal, and try to let go of the stresses and strains of his life. He needed that reprieve to be able to think more clearly.

"I've started to re-evaluate my definition of crazy," he said aloud, shaking his head. "And even with doing that, I still think that I have my own special brand of craziness that nobody else can touch." He sighed softly, closing his eyes, the sound of his own words starting to raise doubts in his mind.

Resolutely, Will pushed those doubts away. He didn't have room for them in his life. Not now. He'd made up his mind, and he was going to stick to his decision.

He didn't know where this was going to lead him. He just hoped that if he changed his mind, he could back out of this just as easily as he seemed to have gotten himself into it.

Though knowing Hannibal, he doubted that would be the case.


	29. Solving the Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't help but wonder if the riddle of whoever attacked him will always remain a mystery.

"I don't believe that you'll regret this decision, Will."

Will shrugged his shoulders, already feeling uncomfortable with the way that his relationship with Hannibal was changing and evolving.

He no longer felt like this man's lover. He felt at a disadvantage, as though he was no longer Hannibal's equal, but his subordinate. He didn't like that feeling.

He'd never let anyone make him feel that way before, though he didn't have another personal relationship to compare this to. Of course, he'd dated before, but he had never been involved before Hannibal. Not like this. He had no sort of touchstone to be his base of operations.

He was flailing along in the darkness, hoping that he was doing the right thing. And a part of him was too proud to let Hannibal know how he was feeling.

Did his lover guess at what his emotions were at this moment, the tangle that his mind was? Was Hannibal just waiting for him to _ask_ for help, for guidance?

Well, he didn't want to do that. It would wound his pride too much.

Though wasn't feeling as if he was this man's slave in some way just as wounding to his pride? Why was he willing to do that, but not willing to tell Hannibal how he felt?

He should be able to talk to the man who was his lover, shouldn't he? He shouldn't feel that he had to hold any of his emotions back. But still, he had a hard time being open with Hannibal; he couldn't help feeling that he had to keep his emotions to himself, at least for the time being.

"I feel like I'm already regretting it, in some ways," he told Hannibal, his brows drawing together in a frown. "But I told you I'd at least give it a shot, so I'm willing to do that."

Hannibal's brows rose, a questioning expression on his face.

"I don't want you to feel that you're being forced into this in any way, Will," he said, his tone very quiet. "If you have any doubts, now is the time to express them."

"Meaning that if I change my mind later, I can't back out of the bargain?" Now he was beginning to feel a little alarmed. He hadn't expected that kind of ultimatum.

He'd thought that this would just be an experiment, something that might make him feel less stressed. But now, he was starting to get the feeling that this would only add to his stress level; he wouldn't know what to expect, and that would make him even _more_ cautious and wary.

"I .... don't think this is a good idea," Will said, holding up his hands and starting to back away, meaning to get to the front door of Hannibal's house, open it, and flee into the night.

Hannibal sighed softly, shaking his head. "I think you may be right, Will. This is something that you obviously aren't ready for at this point in time. We should put the idea aside for now."

Will nodded, feeling relieved that Hannibal had said those words. Slowly, he crossed the room to the chair that he sat in during their sessions, looking over at the other man. "So, how are we going to solve the riddle of who attacked me? There has to be a way to find out."

Hannibal sat down in his own chair, leaning forward and clasping his hands in his lap. "We have tried several ways, and it appears that my newest suggestion is closed to us."

Those words almost made Will squirm. Maybe he was being silly; maybe he _should_ try Hannibal's suggestion. He just didn't want to be stuck in a situation that he couldn't get out of.

He wasn't ready for something that seemed so extreme. Not yet.

"You're good at riddles, Hannibal," he said, his gaze fixed on the other man. "You should be able to figure this out, even if I can't. You're better at things like this than I am."

"I'm good at everything, Will," Hannibal said with a soft laugh. "Well, good at _almost_ everything. Yet it seems that I do not have the wherewithal to solve your problem. Not at this moment, at least. Perhaps some other ideas will come to me. And the riddle _will_ be solved, in time."

"I hope so," Will said, sighing softly. "I hate feeling like this is hanging over my head. And I hate not knowing who did it, so he can be put behind bars for attacking a Federal agent."

A small smile played across Hannibal's lips at Will's words.

"We'll find out who attacked you, Will," he said, his voice strong and firm. To Will, the words sounded like a promise. He just hoped that ti was promise Hannibal could keep.

He had his doubts as to whether or not they would ever discover the truth behind who had attacked him. It might be a riddle that they would never be able to solve.

Though he couldn't feeling that it anyone could unravel this mystery, it was Hannibal. As he'd said, Hannibal was good at riddles; he seemed to be able to puzzle them out much more efficiently than most people could. He had the kind of analytical mind that did well with such things.

"If you can figure this riddle out, then you're a smarter man than I am," Will said, his gaze meeting Hannibal's. "I'm at the point where I'm ready to just give up on it."

"Don't do that, Will," Hannibal told him, leaning back in his chair and getting comfortable, as though they were starting a session. "Remember, I'm quite good at riddles. I may just solve this one for you yet."

Somehow, Will couldn't help feeling that those words were prophetic.


	30. The Wheels Are Turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is sure that he can come up with a way to convince Will to surrender control.

He had been afraid that Will would back out of their tacit agreement.

Hannibal sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. He should have known better than to push Will. This particular situation called for more finesse.

He should have been more careful with bringing up his suggestion, he told himself, steepling his fingers under his chin and settling back for some serious thought.

Will wasn't the kind of person who was going to jump at the idea of having a master. He was an independent man; he obviously balked at the thought of someone else taking the reins of his life and assuming control over him. That wasn't the way to put this idea forward.

No, he had to convince Will that he was doing this for his own good, that it wasn't an issue of control and dominance. He had to ease Will into this situation far more carefully.

Of course, he _did_ want to take control of Will's life. He wanted to break Will down, and then build him back up again in the way that _he_ wished to view the young man.

He wanted to make Will not just his submissive, but his disciple.

He wanted to recreate Will Graham in his own image, to make him someone that Hannibal could be proud of, a man who he could lovingly call his protégé.

His first attempt at doing that hadn't worked very well, but he wasn't going to give up. He was going to have what he wanted from Will, one way or another.

He could be _very_ persuasive when he put his mind to it, and he had no doubt that he would manage to persuade Will to give him what he wanted. He would have Will completely under his control at some point -- and what's more, he would make the young man enjoy being controlled.

Eventually, he would break Will down to the point where he had nowhere to go but up -- and he would rebuild the young man into what he thought Will should be.

No, what he _knew_ Will should be -- a reflection of himself. That was what he had always wanted -- but he had never been able to find anyone who was worthy of becoming what he was.

Not until Will. There was something special about this young man, a darkness in him that reached out to that matching darkness that Hannibal knew had long ago consumed what was left of his own soul. He craved that darkness that was within Will; he needed to bring it out.

He wanted that darkness to take center stage, to obliterate the light that shone from Will. No, not obliterate. He wanted both of those sides to be displayed.

But he wanted the darkness to take precedence over the light. It had to be that way, if he wanted Will to truly become all that he was capable of being.

Though that was going to be more difficult than he'd originally thought.

He had been afraid that he was pushing too hard, and he'd been right about that. But he could remedy that, by holding back and not bringing up the subject again for a while.

He would wait until Will was more receptive -- and at some point, Hannibal was sure that he would be. He did, after all, need to find out the answer to his question.

Who had attacked him when he was sleepwalking and bruised him so badly? Hannibal had an idea as to who -- or, as he thought, _what_ \-- it could have been, but he didn't want to voice that opinion aloud yet. It sounded more than a little unbalanced, and he needed to think it through first.

He was quite sure that he was on the right track, and if he was, it would be an interesting phenomenon. He hoped that he would, at some point, be able to observe it taking place.

If he could, then it would be a sight to see. He just had to maneuver circumstances to where it could happen again -- all the while making sure that Will wasn't badly hurt, of course.

He was confident that the time would come, and he would achieve his goal.

He'd been afraid that Will would run this time, that he would turn from what Hannibal thought of as inevitable, and he had been right. But the next time the question came up, Will wouldn't run.

He would make sure of that. And at that thought, he smiled, the wheels already turning rapidly in his mind, planning just how he would convince Will to do exactly what he desired.


	31. Access Denied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels that he's finally starting to recover some memories from the night he was attacked.

Will turned over in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He'd tried everything that he could think of to make himself fall asleep, everything short of taking sleeping pills. The last thing he wanted was to get hooked on prescription medicine.

He had the pills, but he didn't want to take them. He didn't want to rely on medication to help him sleep; somehow, it didn't seem quite right to do that.

it was just so frustrating, he thought as he turned over and thumped a fist on the pillow, trying to find a cool spot to rest his cheek on. Not being able to sleep was like not being able to access his memories of the night of the attack; it was as though there was an "access denied" sign across them.

He _needed_ to access those memories, just as he needed to get more sleep. Both of them were eating away at his sanity -- and at his health, as well.

Somehow, he needed to find a way to access both his memories of that night, _and_ whatever would help him to be able to sleep. Though he had no earthly idea how to do it.

He'd always had problems sleeping, but they seemed to have multiplied.

Will didn't think that it was thinking about his job that kept him awake. He'd never had this kind of trouble sleeping when he was a cop, and he'd seen terrible things then, too.

But those things had been nothing compared to what he'd seen since he had been working for Jack Crawford. They were nothing compared to what the Chesapeake Ripper had done.

The thought of the Ripper made a shiver go through his slim body. What if it had been the Ripper who had attacked him, and that monster had somehow decided to let him go with merely a warning? What if he was the target of a serial killer, and his days were numbered?

Will almost wanted to laugh at that thought. It was ridiculous to think that he, of all people, could have survived an attack by the Chesapeake Ripper.

Of all the people who the Ripper could attack, he was the one that the killer would most want dead. After all, he was the person who was pursuing the Ripper, hunting him down.

He was the person who would be front and center in the Ripper's sights; he was the person who could get into the killer's mind, who could begin to fathom what his plans were, and find out his identity. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It had been staring him right in the face all along.

Will sat up in bed, his blue eyes wide. The Ripper had attacked him. It couldn't have been anyone else. That fiend had tried to do away with him, but he'd somehow escaped.

That was the only explanation, wasn't it? No one else wanted him dead -- at least no one that he'd been able to think of. It _had_ to be the Ripper.

He had to call Jack and Hannibal, and tell them that he'd figured it out.

But no, he couldn't call them now, he thought, glancing at the clock. It was two o'clock in the morning -- neither of them would thank him for disturbing their sleep.

It felt as though all of the "access denied" signs were slowly being pulled away, and he was finally able to delve into what had happened to him -- and come up with some answers.

He'd have to move forward slowly, Will cautioned himself. He didn't want to rush into anything, or jump to conclusions that would prove to be false. He had to take methodical steps, and make sure that he was on the right track before he moved from one place to the next.

But at this point, he was sure that he'd made something of a breakthrough. He couldn't help feeling that this idea of the Ripper being his attacker was the right one.

Who else would want to harm him? Who else would feel that they had to dispatch him -- or at least shake him up to the point where he would be useless at his job?

Well, he wasn't useless. He wouldn't be knocked off his feet that easily.

Will sat up and swung his legs out of bed, kicking the covers back. There was no way that he'd be able to go back to sleep tonight. He might as well get up now.

As soon as he could call Jack and Hannibal in the morning, he would. He felt that he was finally being granted access to his memories, and he wanted them both to know as soon as possible.

Would they buy into his theory? Will hoped so.

At the moment, it seemed to be the most plausible answer that anyone could come up with.


	32. An Easy Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is becoming more positive that his attacker is indeed the Chesapeake Ripper.

"I suppose you could be right about this, Will."

Hannibal's brow furrowed in thought, and Will had to hold back a sigh. Of course he was right. There was really no other explanation was there?

Who else but the Chesapeake Ripper would want to harm him, get him out of the way? He was the man who was after the Ripper, the one who had the best chance of putting that monster behind bars. So of course his nemesis would want to make sure that he was out of commission.

It seemed like the perfect answer to all of his questions, the only one that really fit. But Will could tell that Hannibal had questions of his own.

He was jotting something down in his notebook.

"What are you writing?" he wanted to know, resisting the urge to reach for the notebook, to see whatever the other man had thought important enough to write down.

Hannibal shook his head, shrugging slightly. "Just jotting down your theory that it is the Chesapeake Ripper who has attacked you. It could very well be the correct thought, Will. If you think about it, he is the person who would most benefit from having you out of the picture."

Will nodded, leaning forward, eager to share his thoughts.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Hannibal. I really don't think it could be anybody else. It's certainly not some random person. Not with an attack this centered on me."

"I believe that you are correct there, as well." Hannibal paused for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. "If it was a random person, then others would have been attacked. But this person waited until you were sleepwalking, and came after you at a very vulnerable moment."

Those words sent a chill down Will's spine.

The exhilaration of having discovered -- well, at least he _thought_ he might have done that -- who his attacker was had paled under the light of scrutiny.

If it _was_ the Chesapeake Ripper who had attacked him so brutally -- and he was nearly positive that it was -- then it stood to reason that he would be attacked again, the next time he was sleepwalking. And he had no idea when that would happen -- or if he'd be protected.

The next time, Winston might not be there with him.

He would be an easy target. An easy _victim_. There was really no way for him to be sure that he would be lucky enough to come out of the next encounter alive.

Hannibal was writing in his notebook again, but this time, Will had no desire to see what the words were. He was fairly sure that he could guess.

Hannibal was questioning if he would come out of this intact.

And at this point, he was doing the same thing. Something told him that the odds weren't going to be on his side, and that he would need all the luck in the world to survive.


	33. His Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal doesn't want to admit that his feelings for Will could be a weakness for him that anyone could choose to exploit.

He hated feeling that Will was a weakness.

But the fact remained that it was the truth. He couldn't be objective when it came to Will; the young man took up most of his thoughts, even when he was with one of his patients.

Hannibal found it hard to concentrate on anything but Will lately; when other people were talking, he tuned them out, his inward gaze focused on only one person.

He'd found himself asking patients to repeat what they had been saying, and he knew that a few of them were getting annoyed with him. They could tell that he wasn't entirely focused on them, and he had been toying with the idea of telling them that they needed a new psychiatrist.

Of course, he couldn't do that with too many patients, or he wouldn't have enough to fill his hours, or to keep his practice thriving. He couldn't turn patients away.

No, he was going to have to overcome this weakness, to try and focus his attention on something other than Will. But he was sure that would be more easily said than done.

It was so hard to take his mind away from Will.

He couldn't admit what he'd been doing. He couldn't let Will know that he had been watching his home in Wolf Trap, that he had been watching the object of his obsession.

 _Was_ this an obsession? Hannibal's brow furrowed in contemplation as he considered the word. He didn't feel that it was, though others might think differently.

Will was a weakness, _not_ an obsession. It didn't matter that there were times when he was watching Will's house that he couldn't account for everything that he had done, times when he seemed to black out, or to go into some sort of fugue state that he would awaken from much later.

Will wouldn't understand that. He might even start having doubts about Hannibal being his psychiatrist, and that wasn't going to be allowed to happen.

He must appear to be strong and capable in all ways in Will's eyes. He didn't want the younger man to have any sorts of doubts about him. That simply wouldn't do.

He wanted to be the man who swooped in to help Will whenever it was needed, the man who Will depended on. He wanted Will to turn to him in times of trouble, of crisis, whenever he felt that he couldn't cope. He wanted to be Will's rock, the one he leaned on.

Perhaps wanting to be that sort of stability for someone else _was_ a weakness, he mused. But he wouldn't have it any other way. It was what he wanted to be.

If Will knew about his weaknesses, then doubts would creep in, and he wouldn't be that rock, that stability. He wouldn't be Will's here any longer.

He _needed_ to be seen as being larger than life.

He needed the kind of hero-worship that only someone like Will could give him. No, not someone _like_ Will, he corrected himself. He needed that from Will.

That was his weakness, that need to be seen as something more than most people viewed him as. And it would only do if that kind of admiration came from the person he was fixated on.

Did that meant that something was wrong with him? Hannibal tossed that thought away as quickly as it came to him. Of course there was nothing wrong with the way he thought. Many people needed to be seen as being larger than life. He was simply one of those people.

He would never admit that Will was a weakness to anyone, of course. It wasn't something that he wanted people to know. It would be too easy for someone to use that weakness against him.

He didn't even want Will to know. There could conceivably come a day when Will would want to wriggle out from under his influence, and he couldn't allow that to happen, either.

No, he couldn't let himself view Will as being his weakness.

Hannibal took a deep breath, standing up and straightening his tie. He had a patient due in a few moments, and he had to push thoughts of Will out of his mind -- for now.

But they wouldn't be gone for long, and he knew it. Even as he headed for the front door at the insistent ring of the doorbell, he knew that this would be another session where he thought about Will, and not on the person who was there in front of him, talking about their problems.

He didn't care about them. Not really. The only person he cared about -- other than himself -- was Will. And all he could think about was when he would see Will again.

Not in a session, but in a more intimate setting.

Yes, maybe that _did_ make Will a weakness, though he didn't want to admit to the fact. It was hard enough to admit to himself that he had an innate _need_ for the other man.

This wasn't the time to think about Will, Hannibal told himself firmly as he pasted a smile on his face and prepared to open the front door. He could ruminate on his weakness later, when he was alone.

When he had time to fully absorb the implications of all that Will was to him.

And also, all that Will had the potential to become.


	34. Descent Into Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal decides to try an unorthodox -- and somewhat unethical -- way to bring Will's memories to the surface.

"Close your eyes, Will. Close your eyes and let yourself relax."

Hannibal kept his voice soothing, soft and gentle. The last thing he needed was to make any sound that would pull Will out of the trance that he was being eased into.

Though he wouldn't call it a trance, exactly. Will had been drugged, of course, but it would take a while for that to kick in. Hannibal would have to guide him there.

He regretted the necessity of having to drug Will to accomplish what he wanted to do, but he knew that there was no other way. The young man would undoubtedly balk at what he wanted if he was in full possession of all his faculties; he had to cloud Will's senses to have his cooperation.

Yet, it was unethical. Yes, it was force, in a way. But it was for Will's own good, and he was sure that he could persuade the younger man that this had been the only way.

Will would probably even enjoy what was going to happen, he told himself, allowing a small smile to curve his lips as he thought of his plans for the night ahead.

He himself would certainly savor every moment.

They were already lovers. It wasn't as though he would be doing something that he hadn't done before by taking Will. His intention wasn't to harm, but to help.

He wanted to guide Will to some kind of understanding of what had been happening to him. And maybe, just maybe, it would help him to understand things, as well.

He himself had been having strange periods of not knowing what he had done, thinking that he was asleep in his own bed, but knowing that he couldn't have been. He had no idea what his body had been doing during the time that his mind had been asleep.

Apparently, he was developing Will's habit of sleepwalking.

Hannibal hadn't told anyone about this, least of all Will. He didn't want his lover to know that he was having problems along the same lines that Will was.

He was sure that if Will knew about it, something in their relationship would change. Will wouldn't trust him in the way that he did now. Doubts would be raised.

That was something he couldn't allow to happen.

Really, _he_ needed this just as much as Will did, if not more, Hannibal told himself firmly. He had to exert some sort of control over the situation, and what better control could he have than by sending Will into a sleepwalking episode and urging him to remember just what had taken place?

It might not have worked when Will had seen Bedelia, but that had been a strange situation, with another person involved. This time, it would be just the two of them.

Will would be more relaxed, and he would be in in environment that he was familiar with. The two of them would be able to explore the unknown together.

This was what they should have done from the first.

Will's eyes were closing; he was obviously falling asleep, which was exactly what Hannibal wanted. He only hoped that he would induce a sleepwalking state.

If not, then this little experiment would be a failure, and he would have to try it again at a later date. But something told him that his plans would be successful.

"Will." He kept his voice soft, hoping that he didn't wake the other man to a state of consciousness, but rather, that Will would hear him and answer him in the dreamlike state that he had been lulled into. "Will, can you hear me?" He kept his voice soft, yet firm and almost commanding.

Will nodded slowly, answering in a very soft voice. "Yes, I can hear you," he said, his tone husky. His lashes fluttered slightly, but he didn't open his eyes, or awaken.

Good, Hannibal told himself. This was exactly the state that he needed Will to be in; he had several questions to ask the young man, and he hoped that the answers would be illuminating.

He needed clarity as much as Will did.

Maybe this would lead them both into some type of madness, a _folie a deux_ that they could share. It might prove to forge yet another bond between them.

And it could also bring them both a clarity and understanding that they each desperately needed. This might be just what the situation called for, even if it was a bit unorthodox and not what anyone else would have done. But, Hannibal reminded himself, he wasn't anyone else.

He would never tell Will what had been done to him this night. And perhaps, if they were lucky, he would discover the answers that they both needed to bring out into the light.

If not, then he would have to try again at some future date.

"Will, show me what you did the night that you went walking in your sleep," he said, keeping his voice soft and steady. He hoped that this would trigger some reaction.

If not, then he'd have to try another tack. But his time was limited, and he knew it. There was only so much time to get some sort of reaction from the man in front of him. If Will didn't respond to a bit of gentle prompting, then he would have to give up for tonight.

But that wasn't going to happen, apparently. Hannibal held his breath as Will slowly got to his feet -- and, to his surprise, began to remove his clothing.

What? Will hadn't gone walking in the nude. He was sure of that.

Though if his young lover wanted to lead him upstairs to the bedroom, or to some other place where they would make love, he wouldn't argue with that action.

All right, so it might make him put aside his little experiment, at least for the time being. But being with Will when he was in this state would be a novelty.

Not ethical, of course. But an opportunity that he couldn't resist taking.

This was a descent into a sort of madness that would be worth experiencing. With a slight smirk curving his lips, Hannibal watched as Will divested himself of his clothes.

Then, surprisingly, the young man turned towards the back of the house, heading for the small enclosed garden there. Hannibal followed, curious as to what Will would do next. This was becoming more and more interesting, and he had to wonder just where this night would lead them.

Will opened the door and made his way out into the garden, then stood still.

Hannibal watched as Will began to walk slowly along the pathway through the garden, placing one foot slowly in front of the other, taking very deliberate steps.

Was he observing madness, or would there be some sort of revelation?

Whatever was going to happen, he hoped that it would give them both some answers.

Though a part of him wondered if either of them would like the answers they might discover.


	35. His Own Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching as Will sleepwalks, Hannibal's secret desires start to unfold, even though he knows that they're terribly unethical.

What was Will doing? This seemed very odd indeed.

Hannibal followed the younger man down the garden path slowly, stopping when Will stopped. Will simply stood there, arms at his sides, his eyes closed.

This felt like some sort of surreal dream, but Hannibal didn't doubt that Will was doing just as he'd been told to do, his mind and body reliving the night that he'd been attacked while he was sleepwalking. But he couldn't have been nude, and so far, nothing had happened.

Was he going to relive the attack? Would he stand here and watch Will defend himself against an assailant hat was only there in his mind?

That wasn't what he had wanted. It wouldn't tell him who the attacker was.

Hannibal waited, but Will did nothing, just stood there. He wondered just what was going in the young man's mind; it was frustrating not to know what Will was experiencing.

Was he remembering back to that fateful night? Was he reliving it, even though Hannibal couldn't see what was going on in the recesses of his brain? If only he could push back the curtains of that dream world and peer inside, know what Will was thinking and feeling at this very moment.

But that wasn't possible, of course. All that he could do was wait patiently for whatever Will might do, and hope that it would give him some clue.

For what seemed like an eternity, Will stood there, his nude body swaying from side to side, before he turned to Hannibal and stared at him with a blank expression.

What was he supposed to do now? Hannibal knew what he _wanted_ to do, but that would be one of the most unethical things that he could possibly do with a patient. It was unethical enough that he and Will had embarked on their physical relationship.

Hannibal almost felt as though he himself was caught up within a dream; what was happening almost didn't feel real, except for the fact that he was wide awake.

He had already broken so many rules. What would one more matter?

Perhaps he would be damned for the thoughts in his mind, but at this point, he didn't care. Who was there to stop them? No one could see what would happen.

Hannibal held out his hand to Will, hoping that the movement would catch the other man's attention. Will's head turned towards him as though he sensed the movement. For a moment, just a brief second in time, Hannibal was transfixed by that intense blue gaze. He couldn't make himself look away.

He took Will's hand in his, twining their fingers together and leading the younger man back into the house -- and up the steps towards the bedroom.

The rest of the this night would be given over to his own desires.


	36. A Dream Within A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal finally manages to fulfill a long-held fantasy.

Was he dreaming? Or was this actually happening?

It most definitely was not a dream. Will was standing in front of him, stark naked, obviously wanting to be taken -- even though he wasn't conscious of what he was doing.

Hannibal knew that it would be terribly unethical to take Will when he was in this state, but then, what he had already done was just as unethical, so he had nothing to lose.

He had already drugged Will to put him into this sleepwalking state; most people would say that was bad enough. But to contemplate having sex with Will, even though that was what his young lover obviously wanted .... that would put him into the realm of monstrousness.

Well, he was already a monster, wasn't he? he thought, shrugging off the doubts and starting to remove his own clothes. It didn't matter what he did at this point.

Besides, he wasn't going to hurt Will. He wouldn't do that. He was going to make love to the man who he had an ongoing physical relationship with. There was nothing wrong with that.

Of course, Will wasn't really cognizant of his actions.

Therefore, he couldn't give his consent to a sexual encounter. This was a very thin line, and Hannibal was aware of that fact. But he wasn't going to let it stop him.

It only took a few moments to remove his own clothes; by the time he had, Will had moved to the bed, still in the throes of sleep, and pulled back the covers to slide beneath them. Hannibal pulled those covers back again, looking down at Will's beautiful body in all of his naked glory.

He was so beautiful, Hannibal thought as his eyes swept over the younger man's pale limbs, then moved up to his face, to those unblinking blue eyes.

He was unbelievably lucky to be the man who Will had chosen to give himself to. He knew that. Would what he was going to do tonight somehow rebound on him?

What if Will happened to remember what took place here?

How would he manage to explain that? He couldn't say that he hadn't known what he was doing; that would obviously be a lie, and Will knew him far too well to believe that he had been carried away by his own desires. No, neither of those explanations would hold any water.

He would simply have to hope that Will never remembered this. If he did, then some sort of measures would have to be taken to make that memory disappear.

This all felt like a dream, but he knew that it wasn't. It was wonderfully _real_ ; it was actually going to happen. He was going to make love to Will while he was in a sleepwalking state.

He had wondered many times what this would be like, but he had never dared to hope that it could happen. And now, that dream was coming true; he was actually going to discover just what the experience would entail, even if he was only able to fulfill that wish this one time.

Oh, it would be glorious. Hannibal was sure of that.

Smiling, he moved onto the bed, straddling Will and looking down at him, a smile curving his lips as he reached for the tube of lubricant on the bedside table.

It only took him a few moments to lubricate himself and prepare Will; with a soft sigh, he let his fingers slip out of the young man, then positioned the head of his cock at Will's entrance.

He slid inside Will with a soft groan of pleasure; he was surprised to feel those long, slender legs wrap around his waist, just as Will would have done if he was fully conscious and aware of what they were doing. It seemed that being asleep didn't impair his reactions at all.

Within moments, he was thrusting inside Will, feeling his pleasure soar, wondering if Will was feeling the same sort of pleasure, or if he was simply moving on autopilot.

There was really no way of knowing, which was a pity.

His orgasm was building up inside him, threatening to come roaring to the surface. He couldn't hold it back, no matter how he might try; it was too strong, too immediate.

With a guttural cry, Hannibal released inside Will, then fell onto the younger man for just a moment before he rolled to the side, pulling out of Will and drawing him close.

It had been just as gloriously wonderful as he'd thought it would be, even though the experience had been far too brief; he put that down to his own desire to do this, to having that desire fulfilled and not being able to control his own physical reactions to that fulfillment.

It was a pity that he hadn't been able to make it last longer, but the experience _had_ been a good one for him. Of course, making love to Will always was.

This still all felt like some sort of a dream within a dream; for a moment, just a fleeting second, Hannibal almost thought that he himself was in the same state as Will.

That was ridiculous. He was wide awake, and fully cognizant.

This wasn't a dream, and he wouldn't allow himself to make it so. It was a reality, _his_ reality, one that he would savor the memory of for quite some time.

It was a pity that Will couldn't share this dream with him, but of course, that was impossible. Will would more than likely be appalled at what he had done -- no, what _both_ of them had done together, Hannibal reminded himself. Will had been an active participant in this.

Really, it didn't seem to matter that Will hadn't known what he was doing. He had still been here, and still taken part in this little .... experiment, for lack of a better word.

The fact that he hadn't really given informed consent was a minor matter.

Hannibal couldn't hold back a smile of contentment. Most people would think him completely debauched for what he had just done, and would have been outraged.

But he had long since stopped letting considerations like that bother him. He lived his life according to his own desires; he didn't really care what others thought of him. He wanted to be seen as an intelligent, sophisticated, and urbane man, but if he wasn't, then it didn't really touch him.

Because, of course, he could always rid himself of anyone who displeased him. It was what he had been doing for most of his life, and he'd made something of a career out of it.

That was his way of life, and it would continue to be.

Not even for Will was he going to change who he was. He could easily hide his .... extracurricular activities from his lover; after all, Will didn't live with him.

If that was to change in the future, then he would have to think about hiding things. But at this point, he didn't feel that it was going to be an issue; perhaps he would at some future date be able to tell Will about himself, about who and what he truly was, and be accepted fully and completely.

Though he doubted that, Hannibal thought with a soft sigh. Will was a good man; the light within him far outweighed the darkness, and it probably always would.

Though that wouldn't stop him from trying to bring that darkness out.

He smiled at the thought, brushing a kiss against Will's forehead. He could tell from the other man's soft, even breathing that Will had fallen asleep, exhausted from their lovemaking.

This had resolved nothing. He still had no idea who -- or what -- it was that had harmed Will. But he had fulfilled one of his most closely held fantasies, and for him, the night had been a success.

He would carry the memory of this night with him for a very long time to come.

With that thought in his mind and a smile on his face, Hannibal finally relaxed into sleep


	37. Fill in the Blanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Will awakens in the morning, he realizes that he has no memory of what happened the night before, and hopes that Hannibal can fill him in.

Will awakened slowly, not wanting to open his eyes.

He knew that he was in Hannibal's bed; that was obvious. It didn't feel like his own smaller bed, and there were no sounds of dogs around him.

So he had spent the night at Hannibal's home in Baltimore last night. That wasn't unusual, of course; and he had been planning on doing just that.

What bothered him was that he couldn't remember anything about what had happened last night. His last coherent memory was the two of them at the dinner table, having a conversation. After that, everything was a blank -- and that was terrifying.

He hated not being able to remember. He hated not knowing everything that he'd said and done in the past few hours. He hated feeling that he wasn't in control.

Blanking out like that only meant that he could have done and said things that he didn't mean, things that could reflect badly on him and his relationship.

There wasn't a single memory of last night in his mind.

Try as he might, he could remember nothing. It was obvious that he and Hannibal had made love, but he couldn't remember a single second of it.

His body told him that he'd been physically taken. That was obvious from the slight soreness, the little twinge that he always had after a night of vigorous sexual activity with his lover. That didn't surprise him. But it was scary to not remember it at all.

He hadn't been drunk. He knew that. He'd barely had anything to drink -- not even an entire glass of wine with dinner. So that wasn't why he couldn't remember.

So why were there no memories of what they'd done?

What could he have done and said? He didn't want to think about that. Will cringed away from some of the ideas that ran through his mind.

Could he have admitted the depth of his love for Hannibal? Was that why the man he loved wasn't here in bed with him, holding him close as they awakened?

Of course he wouldn't have made an utter fool of himself. And even if he _had_ gotten a little out of it and said things that he didn't mean, Hannibal wouldn't take them seriously. The question was, what exactly had he done, and what had his lover thought of him?

Besides, Hannibal knew that he cared. Of course he did. He just might know the depths of the feelings that Will had for him, that was all.

Though WIll had the feeling that Hannibal was perfectly aware of those emotions.

Hannibal knew how thoroughly besotted Will was with him. Will knew that he was unable to hide how he felt -- his eyes truly were the mirror to his soul.

Hannibal could look into his eyes and know exactly how he felt. Though he couldn't do the same with his lover; Hannibal's eyes seemed to hold nothing but secrets.

No, that wasn't entirely true, Will told himself.

There were times when he could look into those dark eyes and see emotion written there; he was sure that Hannibal loved him, even though he rarely said the words.

That love was never front and center, but Will was sure it was there. Though there were times when Hannibal's eyes appeared blank, when he couldn't read anything there -- almost as though his lover felt no emotions at all, and they only manifested when he was in the throes of passion.

That bothered Will a little, but he wasn't going to let it affect his relationship with the man he loved. Hannibal just wasn't used to displaying his emotions openly.

A lot of people were like that. Just because his boyfriend was one of them, and he himself wore his heart on his sleeve, was no reason to doubt their relationship.

However, that wasn't his main concern at the moment.

Going blank like this was terrifying. It signified a lack of control, and for Will, not being in control of a situation was one of his worst nightmares.

For a moment, just a moment, he felt panic rush through him; he wanted to jump out of bed, pull on his clothes, and run downstairs to the kitchen, where he was sure Hannibal was at the moment, to demand of him just what had happened last night.

But no, he wasn't going to do that. It would look as though he was in a frenzy, and it would probably make his boyfriend question his sanity.

He was going to calm down, and try to figure out what had happened.

Hannibal might not be able to tell him, either. Maybe he had given Will some privacy, and hadn't been around all of the evening.

No, that didn't feel right, he thought with a frown. He was sure that Hannibal had been there with him all night, and had known just what was happening.

Yes, his boyfriend would be able to tell him what had happened last night, and fill in the blanks. Though he found it hard to believe that Hannibal would have sex with him while he was in such a state that he couldn't remember anything about their coupling.

Maybe he hadn't been like that while they'd made love, Will told himself. That had to be it. He had just been so exhausted that he'd fallen asleep right afterwards.

Hannibal wouldn't take advantage of him. He would never believe that of the man he loved. He had just been so tired that he had a hard time remembering anything.

Of course. That had to be the answer.

Whatever had happened between them last night had to be mutual. Hannibal wouldn't take advantage of him if he was incapacitated. That just wasn't possible.

A niggling doubt about that lingered in the back of his mind, but Will pushed it away firmly and slammed a door on it. He wasn't going to think like that. He didn't want to believe anything so unflattering about the man he loved; he was sure that Hannibal would clear things up for him.

He would just get dressed and go downstairs, and broach the subject of what had happened last night -- and why he couldn't remember any of it -- with his boyfriend.

Hannibal would tell him everything, and he'd feel better.

Will took a deep breath, swinging his long legs out of bed, and making his way across the room to grab his jeans and pull them on along with his t-shirt.

He left the room, heading downstairs towards the kitchen. He sincerely hoped that Hannibal could fill in the blanks for him -- and that he hadn't done anything too foolish.


	38. Coffee in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will hopes that a strong cup of coffee will erase the cobwebs from his brain and he'll remember what happened between himself and Hannibal last night.

How was he going to talk to Hannibal about last night?

Will's footsteps slowed as he approached the kitchen; he had no idea how to bring up the subject, and he didn't want to accuse Hannibal of anything improper.

After all, even though he had no recollection of them making love last night, that didn't mean that he'd been completely out of it when they'd been together.

He could very well have been completely cognizant of all that was going on, and Hannibal hadn't done anything that he should be censured for. He might just not remember because he'd had one of those strange blackouts that sometimes came over him.

There was no way to know for certain, not really. He could only assume that his mind had erased what they'd done from his mind, for some bizarre reason.

If that was the case, then he _hated_ his brain for doing that. He didn't want to forget a moment of the time that he spent with his lover.

Especially not the times they made love.

Making love with Hannibal was always such a wonderful experience that he didn't want to forget even one second of it. He didn't want that to blocked from his memory.

That was a failing in _him_ , not in his boyfriend. Will told himself firmly. He wasn't going to lay the blame for anything that might have happened at Hannibal's feet.

He got to the bottom of the stairs, hesitating before he headed to the kitchen. He just wished that he could bring up some spark of memory from the night before, remember even one tiny bit of what had happened, what the two of them had done together.

That they had made love was more than obvious. He could tell when his body had been used; he couldn't deny that they'd been intimate last night.

But there was nothing in his mind that confirmed that fact.

If only he could dredge up _something_ , Will thought, scowling as he made his way to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of coffee and a good breakfast would help. He usually didn't eat anything in the mornings -- but Hannibal kept insisting that he needed to fortify himself more.

"Coffee in the morning is no way to start the day, Will," he'd said the last morning that Will had spent here, shaking his head in disapproval. "You need to eat, as well."

So he laughingly let his boyfriend feed him, and he had to admit that Hannibal made the most delicious meals he'd ever eaten. He was a master chef.

This morning, though, he _needed_ a good strong cup of coffee more than he needed food. Maybe coffee would clear the cobwebs from his mind, and he'd be able to remember more of what had taken place upstairs in the bedroom the night before.

At least, he certainly hoped that it would.

If not, then he had another worry to add to all the rest. The points where he "lost time" seemed to become more and more frequent lately.

That was what had caused this situation he was in, wasn't it? The fact that he had been sleepwalking when he was attacked, and that he had no earthly idea who could have done it. He had no memory of the person, save this vision that couldn't possibly be real.

There was no man who had the head of a stag, with antlers spreading wide around him. That wasn't possible. It was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

His very _active_ imagination, Will told himself sternly. That creature couldn't possibly exist, and he didn't know where it had come from.

It was nothing he'd seen or imagined before. He was sure of it.

Would a good strong cup of coffee clear his head? Will sighed, hoping that would be the case. And maybe having a good breakfast wouldn't hurt, either.

Well, he was definitely to get both of those things. Hannibal wouldn't let him start the day without a fortifying breakfast, and he needed his coffee.

Coffee in the morning was usually a hurried affair for him; more often than not, he would drink it black, because he'd have forgotten to get milk. At least he never forgot the sugar, Will thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. He always needed that sugar rush in the morning.

This morning, he would have a leisurely breakfast and coffee with Hannibal, and he would find some way to bring up the subject of the night before.

He hoped that he had just managed to lose time again, and that eventually, the memory of an extraordinary night of loving would come back to him in full force.

If it didn't, then he would have a lot more on his mind.

He didn't need that right now, Will told himself, sighing. He needed to have his mind clear and functioning, not full of worries and crowded with extraneous thoughts.

Coffee would take care of clearing the cobwebs out of his mind, Will thought, taking a deep breath as he entered the kitchen. At least, he hoped it would.


	39. Rising To the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some memories that Will doesn't want to resurface, but others that he's desperate to regain.

"I don't know if I want my memories back." 

Will spoke the words from the doorway; he didn't know what kind of effect they would have on Hannibal, but he wanted to observe the other man's actions.

What would Hannibal think when he heard those words? Would he tell Will that he was being silly, that he _needed_ to have those memories intact in his mind?

No, of course Hannibal wouldn't say that, Will told himself. But he might think it, and Will was sure that he could interpret Hannibal's body language and understood what he was feeling, even if his boyfriend didn't say the words that Will was sure were on the tip of his tongue.

Maybe he _was_ crazy not to want those memories back in his head again. But right now, he just wanted to forget about whover -- or whatever -- had attacked him.

Right now, he was more concerned about what had obviously happened between them last night -- the coupling that he had no memory of.

That was frightening, to think that they'd made love without him knowing.

"Why not, Will?" Hannibal asked as he turned around from the stove, a slight frown on his face. "Don't you want the person who attacked you to be brought to justice?"

Will shook his head, sighing, wishing that he could make Hannibal understand how he felt. "That's not it," he said, spreading his hands out in a gesture of surrender as he took a seat at the table. "I just don't think that pushing myself to remember is helping at all."

Hannibal poured them each a cup of coffee, then took a seat opposite Will, looking at the younger man, the frown still marring his brow.

"Will, it may not be helping you, but it is something that you need to do if we are ever to bring this person to justice and make him pay for what he did to you," he said softly.

Will nodded, slowly, reluctantly. He knew that was true.

But somehow, finding the person who had attacked him didn't seem like it was so imperative any more. It felt as though he was chasing an ephemeral shadow; the more he tried to remember, to bring a face to mind, the more his memory was blocked.

He had no idea who would want to harm him. There were so many criminals that he'd put away who might be out there with revenge in their hearts that he couldn't count them all.

Trying to come up with just one name, and then pin that name and their face to a memory that was shadowy at best, was an impossible task for him to accomplish.

Really, all that he could do was hope that his memory would come back, that all of the pieces would suddenly decide to coalesce into a complete memory. Will didn't believe that would happen; he just wanted to put what had happened behind him and get on with his life.

Hannibal watched him with a speculative expression on his face.

"You don't really _want_ to remember any more, do you, Will?" he asked, shaking his head. "I thought it might come to this. And perhaps you're in the right."

That attitude was surprising; Will had expected Hannibal to protest, to say that he _had_ to remember. But he was glad that there wouldn't be an argument.

Will shook his head slowly, sighing. "No, I don't want to remember," he said, his voice very soft. "I don't think I'm going to, anyway. It's been this long, and there's been no clear memory coming back into my head. I don't think it's going to happen, Hannibal."

Hannibal nodded slowly, sipping his coffee before speaking. "You may be right, Will. The memory may never surface. Perhaps it's best to simply move on."

Well, he hadn't expected _that_. Not at all.

Will had been sure that Hannibal would argue with him, that he would pull out a dozen reasons why the memory should be forced to the surface.

Maybe Hannibal was as tired of this as he was. Maybe his lover simply wanted to move on just as he did, to get on with their lives and put this all behind them.

Now was the time to broach the subject of him not being able to remember what had happened between them last night; they were talking about memories, and this was the one that it bothered him the most to lose. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he remember?

"There's one memory I'm really anxious to recover," Will began, his hands tightening on his coffee mug. "I don't know what happened last night."

Was it his imagination, or did Hannibal's eyes widen just as bit at those words? Was his boyfriend looking away, as though he was trying to avoid Will's gaze?

No, Hannibal had no reason to do that. He was imagining things.

It was ridiculous for him to think that Hannibal was trying to avoid looking at him. Ridiculous to suddenly feel that his lover might be hiding something.

WIll cleared his throat, plunging on with his words. "I know that we made love last night. I mean, it's not like I can't tell when I've had sex. But I can't remember any of it, no matter how hard I try. The last thing I remember is us having dinner. Then it's all just a blank until this morning."

Hannibal looked up, meeting his gaze, his dark eyes clear and unblinking. "After dinner, we went into the living room for a while. We both read before we went up to bed."

Why did he feel that Hannibal wasn't telling him the whole story?

Will didn't know why he felt that Hannibal was holding something back from him. He had no reason to think that; no reason to feel that Hannibal was acting .... well guilty.

But at the same time, there was something about his actions that spoke of furtiveness, that told Will he wasn't being completely direct and upfront.

Whatever had happened between them last night, maybe it had been something a little kinky, something that Hannibal was embarrassed about, Will told himself. Though he didn't think that it was possible for his lover to be embarrassed about anything in the sexual arena.

Still, there was a first time for everything. Maybe whatever it was had really gotten to Hannibal, and was now making him feel uncomfortable.

Will smiled, hoping that it would ease the tension in the room, a tension that almost palpable. He didn't want the man he loved to feel uneasy. He needed to defuse this situation.

He had to be nonchalant about this, had to let it go.

"It doesn't matter," he said, waving a hand in the air. "I know that we made love, and that's enough for me. I just wish I could remember what I'm sure was a great experience."

Hannibal nodded, looking relieved. "I can assure you that it was indeed a wonderful night, Will," he said, his voice soft. "I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I hope that you did, as well. It's a pity that you can't bring the memory to mind, though. Perhaps we should see a doctor about this."

Will straightened up a little, nodding. "I can understand why a doctor wouldn't be able to bring out a memory of a traumatic experience, but I"m sure that last night was anything but traumatic."

Yes, that was what they would do. This memory _could_ come rising to the surface.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, Will thought he saw something in Hannibal's eyes, a reluctance to talk about the night that had just passed.

Surely Hannibal couldn't be hiding anything from him. His boyfriend wouldn't do that. But that look .... it spoke of secrets, of deceptions.

Will pushed the thought firmly away. He wouldn't believe that.

Hannibal had nothing to hide from him. There were no secrets between them; he was sure that he knew all that he needed to know about the man he loved.

Whatever secrets there might still be between them would be discovered, in time. He had no doubt of that. He just had to be patient and let time take its course.

And maybe, if he was lucky, his memories would come back, too.

Though he wasn't going to hold his breath waiting for that.

With that thought, he sat back, waiting for Hannibal to speak again, to tell him what had gone on between the two of them last night.

Will found that he was almost holding his breath, waiting for what his boyfriend had to say. Waiting to find out just what they had done together.

It was a memory that he desperately wanted restored to his mind.


	40. The World on His Shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has what seems like a plausible explanation for Will's lack of memory from the night before, but Will isn't so sure that's the answer.

"Perhaps those memories are better off buried."

Will shook his head, taking a sip of coffee before putting his mug down and regarding Hannibal soberling from across the table. "Not the ones from last night."

"I wasn't referring to those memories," Hannibal said, raising his brows. There was something about the tone of his voice, the expression on his face, that made Will wary.

Hannibal's voice was too smooth, too prepared; it felt as though he already had stock answers to anything that Will might say. He couldn't help but feel that his lover was hiding something about what had happened last night, and he wanted to know what it was.

"What exactly happened last night?" he asked, frowning, unconsciously clenching one hand on the table. "I don't have any memory of what went on after dinner."

Hannibal shook his head, sighing as he poured syrup on his pancakes. "I told you, Will. We read for a while and went up to bed. You were tired. You fell asleep quickly."

The tone he spoke in brooked no argument; for Hannibal, the subject was closed.

Will felt as though he was being pushed aside, anything that he could say negated by Hannibal's attitude. It made him feel annoyed -- and contentious.

But he didn't want to start and argument, not this early in the morning. And besides, Will asked himself, was it really all that important to know about last night?

Whatever had happened, it obviously hadn't been anything important. Maybe he and Hannibal had made love, or maybe he was just imagining things. Though he didn't think that he was; the sensations in his body told him that they'd been intimate.

"Hannibal ...." Will swallowed hard, then decided to ask. "Did we make love last night? Because if we did, I don't have any memory of it at all."

Hannibal looked surprised, his brows rising again.

"Of course we did," he said, his voice very soft. "I am surprised that you don't remember it, Will. It was quite lovely. But you have been very stressed lately."

Will nodded slowly, agreeing with Hannibal's words. His boyfriend was right; he _had_ been terribly stressed lately, so it probably wasn't all that surprising that he couldn't remember what they had done. Still, he couldn't help feeling more than a little guilty about it.

"I'm sorry that I can't remember," he said, his voice very soft. "I wish I could. I hate to think that we made love and I don't have any memory of it."

"It's quite all right, Will," Hannibal said with a smile that seemed genuine. "It was a wonderful experience, and I am quite sure that it was as good for you as it was for me."

"I'm sure it was," Will said, unable to keep the flush of shame from coloring his normally pale cheeks. He didn't know why it was so important to him to remember every moment of what had happened last night. It would all come back to him, surely?

"Will, you seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders lately," Hannibal told him, reaching across the table to place his hand over Will's. "That worries me."

There was no denying the sincerity in his lover's voice.

"If I wasn't so stressed, I'm sure I'd remember last night," Will admitted, not moving his hand away. "I feel bad that I can't. I should be able to."

Hannibal shook his head, the movement quick and decisive. "Will, lovemaking is a way to relieve stress. A very good one, I must say. I am sure that you'll remember, in time." He squeezed Will's hand, then let go, his gaze not wavering from his young lover's face.

Will heaved a sigh, shrugging his shoulders as he took another sip of coffee. "I hope so. I don't like to think of missing anything that the two of us do together."

"The memory is there in your body, and in the back of your mind," Hannibal told him, speaking softly. "That memory will come forward when it is ready to do so."

Will could do nothing but nod, and hope that Hannibal was right.

It just bothered him not to _know_. There were flashes of memory, bits and pieces, but that was all. There was no coherent memory of what they had shared.

He could remember walking in the garden -- couldn't he? Though for some reason, it felt as though he had been alone there, that Hannibal wasn't by his side.

Will frowned, putting down his fork. That couldn't be right, not at all. If he'd taken a walk in the garden, then he knew that Hannibal would have been right there with him, probably making comments about the flowers growing there and the ones that he was thinking of planting.

He wanted to push that thought to the side, to not let it grow and take shape in his mind. The idea that for some reason, Hannibal hadn't been in the garden with him.

But that had to be wrong. Unless he had gone out into the garden while Hannibal was putting their dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he told himself. Maybe that was the case.

Well, it wasn't something that he had to think about now.

Will knew that he couldn't push the niggling doubts out of his mind that easily. He would replay them, over and over, worrying them like a dog with a bone.

Was it possible that the memory was just hidden under a bank of clouds, and it would come out once his mind was clearer? He hoped that was the case.

He didn't want to think that the memory of what had passed between himself and Hannibal the night before was completely gone, that it would never surface. He didn't doubt that it _had_ been good for him, as his lover had said; sex with Hannibal was always good.

But it bothered him that he couldn't remember what they'd done. It was as though there was a huge puzzle piece missing, and he desperately wanted to slide it into place.

He hated the feeling that a part of him was incomplete; it was bad enough to know that was the case when it came to whoever had attacked him while he was sleepwalking.

He didn't need yet another mystery to add to the first one.

It was enough that he was trying to deal with bringing those elusive memories back into his mind. He didn't need more to join them in some uncharted wilderness.

Will sighed softly, shaking his head as he looked at his boyfriend. "I keep saying that I don't want those memories of the night I was attacked to come back, but I think I do," he said slowly. "But I want the ones from last night to come back more. I wish they would."

"I think they will eventually come back to you," Hannibal told him, his gaze catching and holding Will's. "Just give it some time, Will. The stress could be blocking them."

Will nodded, hoping that what his boyfriend said was correct.

If not, then he was in for some tough times ahead, he thought with a sigh. He would go over and over last night again in his mind, trying to bring memories to the surface.

He hoped that wouldn't be as hard to do as bringing the memories of the night that he was attacked back into the forefront of his mind was proving to be.

Hannibal was right. He _was_ far too stressed.

He did feel as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And Will knew that weight would be there until he had some answers, when those memories finally surfaced.

He smiled at his boyfriend, trying to lighten the moment, and his thoughts. "You're right. I've been stressing too much lately, and I've got a lot of weight on my shoulders. I need to stop worrying so much, don't I? If I don't, then the stress is just going to pile up and get worse."

Hannibal nodded, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips. "That is exactly right, Will. You need to try to relax. That will make the memories easier to access."

Will nodded, forcing a smile to his lips, though he didn't feel like smiling at all.

He desperately hoped that he'd be able to access his memories sometime in the near future -- _all_ of them, including what had taken place last night.

If he didn't, then he was just going to keep adding to the stress he felt, adding to the weight that was already heavy on his slender shoulders.

A weight that would crush him if at least part of it didn't dissipate.


	41. Obscuring the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wants the clouds obscuring his memory to dissipate so he can shine a light into the darkness surrounding the night he was attacked.

There were a lot of clouds in the sky today.

Will sighed as he looked up, squinting. There would be no sunshine peeking through those clouds, he was sure, just as no light shone into his dilemma.

He was no closer to figuring out what had happened on the night he'd been attacked. And now he had no memory of the night that had just passed, though he _knew_ that something had happened with Hannibal. He could tell from how his body felt.

Why couldn't he remember? Why were these dark clouds obscuring his memory, taking away something that he should be able to cling to, something pleasant?

It seemed that fate didn't want him to have any pleasant memories.

He hated these clouds that swept across his memories and blanked them out; he wanted to get rid of those clouds, to bring his memories out into the open.

He wanted to banish them all to the far reaches of his mind, to shine some light into the darkened corners of his memory, but that seemed impossible. Will had never felt so frustrated in his life, not even when he was faced with a case that looked as if it was impossible to solve.

Maybe the frustration was just overwhelming him because this wasn't a case -- it was his _life_ , he told himself. He felt like a victim, and he hated it.

The last thing he wanted was to see himself as a victim. He was stronger than that; he wasn't going to let this lack of memory beat him down.

It was just so horribly frustrating to feel that memories were there, lurking just under the surface of his mind, just behind those clouds that obscured his vision. If only they would dissipate, clear away and leave him with the knowledge of what had happened that night!

Will sighed softly, knowing that he was hoping for too much. If he couldn't remember the night that had just passed, then he certainly couldn't remember one from weeks ago.

It was time to make peace with the missing memory, and try to move on.

That was really all he could do, wasn't it? Will sighed again; he wished that he could put all of this out of his mind, stop thinking about it, at least for the time being.

No, what he really wanted was for the clouds that blocked his mind to part, to reveal those missing memories and let him find out what had happened, and who had attacked him. Then he could put his mind at rest, and get on with his life, putting the whole incident behind him.

Until then, he knew that he would always feel unsettled whenever his mind turned in this direction -- which it seemed to be doing all the time lately. 

Those clouds were nowhere close to dissipating.

In fact, they were darker now than they'd ever been. 

Something told him that those clouds would always obscure the truth.


	42. Keeping Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is forming a theory as to who attacked Will -- and he doesn't like the conclusions that he's drawing.

Hannibal sat in silence, contemplating the night just past.

He had awakened early this morning, blinking at the sunlight that had filtered into his bedroom. His first thoughts had been of Will, and if he was awake yet.

Somehow, he realized that he had seen Will last night -- even though the young man had been in Wolf Trap, and he had supposedly been asleep here in Baltimore, in his own home. The two places were miles apart; it took nearly two hours to get from one to the other.

Yet he had somehow seen Will last night; he had seen the young man at his home, standing on his front porch. He had looked upon Will's face.

He hadn't been in Wolf Trap last night. He knew that.

But when he had gone to his closet to choose his clothes for the day, he had glanced down at his shoes, the ones that he had worn yesterday -- and frozen.

The shoes had been muddy and still had leaves clinging to them. Leaves that he knew, somehow, could have only come from the woods around Will's house in Wolf Trap, a place where he'd been walking several times with the younger man, a place he enjoyed being in.

But he was absolutely certain that he _hadn't_ been there last night. Or if he had, then he certainly didn't remember it. Not at all.

And if he had been there, at Will's home, spending time with him, then he would remember it -- wouldn't he? Hannibal asked himself. He wasn't likely to simply forget.

As reluctant as he was to admit it, he apparently _had_ been in Wolf Trap last night. He had apparently gotten up and dressed, then driven there in the middle of the night -- and a part of his unconscious mind could remember having seen Will at his home.

He was sure that Will had no idea that he'd been there. The mud and leaves on his shoes were proof that he had been there, probably hidden in the forest.

Why would he have done that? What was wrong with him?

That was a question that he usually asked Will, Hannibal told himself with a sigh. But it looked as though he could have problems that were just as serious.

For the moment, he would keep his silence. There was no need for Will to know that he'd been in Wolf Trap; but there was a theory forming in his mind, one that he didn't like to contemplate, but that he couldn't simply dismiss out of hand. It was growing, forming in his mind.

It wasn't an idea that he wanted to entertain, but he had no choice in the matter. And he was starting to believe that it was the answer they had been searching for.

He was the one who had attacked Will. 

He was keeping silent -- for now. Perhaps forever.

Because in this case, he really didn't know what to say.


	43. Memory Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that the memory he's desperately trying to access lies just beneath the surface of his conscious mind, but try as he may, he can't bring it into the light.

Will sat on the front steps of his house, staring out into the distance.

He could _almost_ remember what had happened on the night he was attacked. There was something there, just under the surface, a memory that was rising.

If only that memory would break the surface and take a deep breath, bring the full recollection of what had happened that night flooding back to him. He wanted that memory more than he had ever wanted anything; no, he didn't just want it. He _needed_ it.

He needed to know what had taken place. He needed to know if he was losing his mind, or if what he thought he had seen was real.

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just his imagination.

It had to be, he thought with a soft sigh. There was no such thing as a man with a stag's head. In the heat of the moment, that part had been some kind of wild hallucination.

But there was more to that memory, Will was sure of it. There was something just underneath the surface, some kind of familiarity that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He wanted to reach out and grasp that memory, to bring it kicking and screaming out into the light.

If only that memory would surface, then he could have some clarity. Then the dreams would stop coming, and he could finally face his fears and defeat them.

Why wouldn't that memory become clearer? He closed his eyes, clenching his fists in his lap. It was there, hovering in the distance, beckoning to him ....

That memory was so tantalizing in its nearness, yet so utterly frustrating in its haziness. He couldn't pin it down, couldn't make it become any clearer. For some reason, it chose to stay just out of reach, as though it was taunting him with his inability to make its edges sharpen.

Why wouldn't his memory come clear for just a few seconds -- enough time for him to turn and catch a look at his attacker's face, so he would know who it was?

Will sighed again, resting his head in his hands.

Maybe he didn't even know the person who had attacked him. He might get a good look at their face and still have absolutely no idea who they were.

Or they could have been wearing a mask. His heart thumped almost painfully when that thought came to him. Maybe that was why he'd thought, in his confused, sleeping state, that he had seen a man with a stag's head. It could be because they had worn some kind of bizarre headgear.

Well, at least that was something to think about. He felt a stirring of hope, making him feel lighter and much less oppressed than he'd been feeling lately.

It was something to grasp at, which was what he desperately needed at the moment.

Grasping at straws would at least give him something to hold on to.


	44. Always in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wishes that the moon shining down on him could shed some of its illumination on his questions about the night he was attacked.

Will gazed up at the moon, full and bright in the night sky.

Was Hannibal looking at that same moon? he wondered. Was the other man thinking of him, and trying to find a way for him to access his blocked memories?

That was all he himself had been able to think about lately, until he was at the point where his mind revolved around nothing but that issue. It was starting to make him feel as though he was just like one of his dogs, chasing his tail, turning around in never-ending circles.

So far, he had come up with a complete blank as far as opening his mind to those memories. He'd done everything that he could think of, yet they remained locked away.

Will groaned softly, closing his eyes and shaking his head as though to clear it.

Why couldn't those memories break free of their chains and surface to the forefront of his mind? That would give him some peace, which he desperately needed.

But no, they remained frustratingly hidden, keeping him in the dark. He wished that the brightness of the moon that had shone down on him on the night that he was attacked would make those memories come flooding back, illuminating them in its glowing, silvery light.

 _Had_ the moon been shining down that night? Will frowned, trying to remember. He took a deep breath, letting his mind clear, then closed his eyes again.

Yes, the moon had been out -- he was sure of it. He could remember it coming out from behind a cloud -- and showing him that fearsome stag's head.

That _was_ what he had seen; the more he thought about it, focused on that vision, the more he was sure of it. But that obviously couldn't be real; the person who had attacked him must have been wearing a mask of some kind, obviously intended to hide his identity.

Or had his mind simply been playing tricks on him, making him think that he'd seen something he knew didn't exist in the real world that he lived in?

Will shook his head, feeling even more frustrated than he already had been.

This was hopeless. The more he tried to force his memory to clear, to give him an unimpeded picture of what had happened that night, the cloudier it became.

If only the moon could illuminate his mind, his memories, the way it did the sky, he thought with a sigh, opening his eyes and looking up at the star-spangled night again. It would be so easy if that could happen, and he'd feel an oppressive weight slip off his shoulders.

But for now, he was stuck with carrying that weight, and with not knowing just what had happened on the night that he was attacked.

He was starting to resign himself to never finding out, to always being in the dark.

That darkness would, Will was sure, eventually obliterate him.


	45. This Is No Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal feels as though his life has descended into a nightmare.

How did he explain all of this to Will?

Hannibal ran a hand over his face and through his hair, feeling completely disconcerted. He had a let an entire day go by without thinking about this problem.

Of course, it had been there throughout the day, trapped in the back of his mind, beating at the cage that he was trying to keep it in, demanding its freedom. He _had_ to decide what he was going to do, how he was going to tell Will the truth.

 _Could_ he tell the truth? He knew that it would damage his relationship with Will irredeemably; it might even tear them apart forever.

Hannibal sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

There was no "might" about it. This _would_ tear them apart. Even though he had no memory of what he'd done, Will would never be able to forgive him.

He had flashes here and there, but it all seemed like some kind of hallucination, a dream that his subconscious was placing within his mind. Nothing seemed _real_ from those brief moments of memory. It couldn't be real, could it? It _had_ to be a dream.

But the mud on his shoes, coupled with the memory, the _surety_ , of having seen Will, of being close to him, was proof that this was no dream.

He was the one who had attacked Will. He was sure of that. His own confused half-memories proved it, and he had no doubts that it was the truth.

That truth was something he couldn't bring himself to tell Will. He couldn't bear to see the hurt that he knew would be in those extraordinary blue eyes -- and then, after the hurt, the anger that was sure to follow. Seeing that would break his heart.

He couldn't bear to have Will turn away from him.

It was sure to happen. He knew that as surely as he knew that night would follow day, and the passing of one day would lead into the next.

This was no dream -- it was a nightmare. One that he wanted to awaken from, but knew that he wouldn't. He would have to think of some sort of explanation to give Will; he certainly couldn't tell the young man the truth. It was too much to ask of himself.

He would simply have to keep this knowledge to himself, Hannibal thought with a sigh. His world could be torn apart if he ever dared to confess what he had done.

But it wasn't going to be easy to live with that knowledge.

If only this _was_ a dream, he thought with another soft sigh. He would give anything to be able to wake up from it, to know that none of it was real.

This was his life, not a dream, and it seemed that he was managing to make a royal mess of it -- even if he had no complete memory of all that he'd done,


	46. Windows of His Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, the curtains across the windows of Will's mind are being drawn back, to reveal what he so desperately needs to see.

Will sat up in bed, his blue eyes wide.

He pressed a hand against his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn't keep having these nightmares; at some point, he needed to get back to sleep.

He'd never slept well, but lately, the memories of the night that he'd been attacked by his mysterious assailant kept coming back. It was as though he viewed that night in his dreams through a veil -- and that veil was being slowly, ever so slowly, pulled back.

If he could keep dreaming about what had happened that night, Will was sure that the memory would finally come fully to light, and he'd know who his attacker had been.

But how much longer could he deal with these nightmares?

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, wishing that it was closer to time for him to get up and get ready for work. But a glance at the clock made him sigh with frustration.

It was only a little past two in the morning. He didn't have to be up and moving around for over four hours, and he wasn't going to sit here and try to concentrate on a book, not when his mind was reeling, his thoughts going in circles around his own problems.

The memory was there, just under the surface. He could almost _feel_ it trying to come to light, as if it was knocking on the windows of his mind, demanding entrance.

But those windows remained stubbornly closed, refusing to let the curtains that shrouded that memory be pulled back to let the light inside.

All he wanted was for that memory to break free, to come to the surface gasping and drawing in great gulps of air, so that he could finally know who had attacked him and put the whole episode behind him. If he didn't find out soon, he was sure that he'd go insane.

Of course, a lot of people would say that he was already insane, and that it was his own mental instability that had caused this, he thought with a sour smile.

And maybe those people were absolutely right.

He lay back down on the pillows, wide-eyed, staring up at the ceiling. What if he couldn't go back to sleep? He would risk falling asleep at work.

Somehow, that didn't seem to matter. He had much bigger things to worry about than merely drifting off when he was in his office, or between classes. He had to worry about that memory that was being dragging to the surface of his mind, kicking and screaming all the way.

He _had_ to know who had been behind his attack. That was the only way to stop the nightmares and return to what, for him, passed as a normal life.

Will closed his eyes, determined to try to sleep again.

Slowly but surely, the windows of his mind were opening.

Though Will didn't think he'd like what he saw there.


	47. Parting the Curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more the curtains part to reveal his memories, the more uncertain Will becomes as to whether he truly wants to know who attacked him.

The curtains were starting to part, slowly but surely.

Will had dreamed again after he'd fallen asleep last night, and this time, the attack had unfolded itself in front of him, all in slow-motion replay.

It was as though he'd been outside of himself, watching a home movie that he was starring in. He had seen the man-stag attack him, and he'd whirled around in slow motion, a flash of recognition crossing his startled mind before his assailant's identity was once again shrouded.

But those few seconds of clarity gave him hope. He was absolutely sure he would eventually know who had done this -- it would just take some more time.

The clouds were starting to dissipate. Soon, they'd be completely gone.

Will knew that he had to give himself time; he couldn't expect to have a revelation all of a sudden, as though a blinding light had suddenly struck him.

Patience wasn't one of his better qualities, but he no choice other than to try to be as patient as he could, and wait for those clouds to drift away, the curtains to open, and his memory of that night to finally come clear. He knew that it would, if he just gave it some time.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then opening them after a few moments and staring down into his coffee cup, contemplating the swirls of liquid.

All he wanted was for those curtains to be pulled back, to let the light in, to know who had done this so he could find them and put it all behind him.

But something told him that it wasn't going to be that easy. For some reason, the thought of finally being able to confront the person who had caused him so many sleepless nights, his attacker, gave him a feeling of dread that was out of proportion to the situation.

What if it was someone he knew? What if it was someone who had some sort of grudge against him, one that he'd never known about, never been aware of?

At least he was still alive, he told himself. That was something.

With each flash of returning memory, he knew that he was getting closer to discovering who had done this. And that feeling of dread grew commensurately stronger.

Did he really want to now who it was? Will asked himself. Did he really want to confront them, if it was someone he knew? Or would it make him feel better to make this episode in his life a closed book, to put it all behind him once and for all, to turn his back on the entire incident?

Of course it would, he thought, his inner voice firm and strong. He lifted his cup and drained the last of his coffee, then set it down on the table with a _thunk_.

He was going to put an end to this. It wouldn't be long now.


	48. A Ticking Time Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is not pleased to find out that Will's memory is returning.

"You say that your memories of that night are coming back?"

Hannibal sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the young man sitting in front of him. This wasn't something he had expected to hear.

Will nodded, his tone of voice optimistic when he spoke. "Yes, they're coming back to me, even though it's going to take a while before I know everything. You know that patience has never been one of my virtues, but I'm trying to wait for those memories, and not to force them."

Hannibal nodded slowly, trying to keep his mind on what Will was saying, even as his own thoughts scrambled and skittered within his mind.

What was he going to do if Will remembered everything?

He could, of course, always tell the young man that he had blacked out, that he had been sleepwalking, too -- which was, in a way, nothing more than the truth.

He hadn't known what he was doing when he attacked Will. It had been his subconscious leading him -- but he was a psychiatrist, and he knew that his subconscious would have been acting out something that he, deep in the recesses of his soul, actually _wanted_ to do.

He had attacked Will because a part of him saw this young man as a threat to his way of life, a threat to who he essentially was. He had been trying to protect himself.

There was no other explanation. He knew that he wouldn't consciously try to harm Will, but it seemed that there were times when his mind wasn't under his control.

And with Will's memory coming back, that meant he was in trouble. He would have no real defense once those walls had come crumbling down, once Will's memory had returned and all the clouds that obscured that night had blown away. He would be exposed, for all the world to see.

He couldn't let that happen. Somehow, he had to think of a way to keep Will's memories obscured, or .... no, he didn't want to think about the other possibility.

He wasn't going to dispose of Will. He couldn't do that.

Will was staring at him, his brow furrowed. "I thought you'd be pleased about this. I thought a breakthrough into my memory was what we all wanted."

Hannibal nodded, glad that Will wasn't able to get into _his_ mind. "I'm very glad that your memories of that night are finally coming to the surface, Will," he said, the words coming out slowly, carefully. "I just hope that what we discover is something that won't harm you even more."

Will had no idea how true that was, he told himself. What those memories might reveal when they finally did surface could hurt Will more than the actual attack had.

It remained to be seen just what would happen.

The world was suddenly reduced to a ticking time bomb.

One that could easily explode in both of their faces.


	49. Dissipating Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clouds that cover his memories are clearing, but it's happening far too slowly for Will's peace of mind.

The clouds were finally starting to clear and pull away from his memories.

Will couldn't help but feel that the more he pushed himself to remember, the clearer that night was going to become in his mind.

Sooner or later, it would all burst into startling clarity, and he would be able to remember exactly what had transpired -- as well as finally know who had attacked him. It was something he _had_ to know; if he didn't find out, then the anxiety would consume him.

He shuddered at the thought of having those questions unaswered for the rest of his life, always wondering just what had happened, and why.

He couldn't live like that. He _had_ to know.

He was sure that Hannibal felt the same; after all, the other man had gone out of his way to try to help Will find out what had happened and who his assailant was.

But now, for some odd reason, Hannibal seemed quieter on the subject, shut down, as though he was somehow retreating inside the private precincts of his mind. Maybe he was trying to think of something to do that would flush their quarry out into the bright light of day.

Will hoped that he was, because he himself had no idea how to go about doing that. At least not without putting himself at great physical risk.

That was completely out of the question, as Hannibal had told him flatly and decisively. He wasn't going to be allowed to take any risks. Not now.

Which only proved how much Hannibal cared for him, Will thought, his pale cheeks flushing pink at the thought. He had already known that Hannibal cared, of course. What he hadn't known was just how much the other man seemed to worry about his well-being.

It felt good to have someone who cared about him in the way that Hannibal did. Someone to push those dark clouds away and bring sunshine into his life.

He'd never had that before, and now that he did, he cherished the feeling.

But still, those dark clouds continued to hang over his head, and he knew that they would until he finally had some definitive answers -- answers that he wasn't sure he would get.

Then, and only then, could he put all of this behind him. Will wanted that desperately. He wanted to be able to have his questions answered, to close the door on this chapter of his life and walk away from whatever had happened on that night.

He couldn't do that until those questions had been answered. And at the moment, he didn't think that anyone could give him a way for those answers to materialize. 

The clouds were dissipating, but only slightly. They weren't letting in much light.

And they definitely weren't lifting quickly enough to suit him.

Will just hoped that when they finally _did_ part, he'd have all the answers he needed.


	50. Overcoming His Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal doesn't want to see Will as being his weakness, but rather, as his strength.

Hannibal sighed softly, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

If he had attacked anyone but Will, then he would have the solution to his problem ready to hand. He could simply dispose of them, and the threat would be past.

But he _had_ attacked Will, even though he had no memory of doing so. Oh, he was sure that the memory was there, somewhere in his subconscious, hidden amongst the swirling mists in the back of his mind. But he doubted that it would ever step forward, into the light.

He would have to find some way to bury Will's memories of that night, memories that were apparently starting to come dangerously close to the surface.

He couldn't let Will know that he had been the assailant.

It wasn't what he'd wanted to do. If he had realized what was happening, he would have stopped it somehow. He never wanted to harm Will in any way.

But that part of him that ran on animal instinct was a completely different side of who he was. When he was in that sort of fugue state, he had no control over what he did -- and no memory of what had happened when he came back to himself. 

Of course, that wasn't an excuse, Hannibal though with a soft sigh. Ever since he'd realized what was going on, he had been berating himself for letting it happen.

Was that a weakness in him? Was Will making him lose sight of all that he was, all that he had been for most of his life? Was Will becoming his weakness?

He didn't want to believe that. He wanted to believe that Will could be his strength, that his feelings for Will could make him a better man, could redeem him in some way -- even though, if he admitted the truth, he had never felt that what he did was completely wrong.

But the rest of the world wouldn't see it that way -- and Will certainly wouldn't. And really, keeping Will by his side was the most important priority in his life.

He couldn't lose Will. He needed to have Will by his side.

If that made him weak, then so be it. He could only hope that it wouldn't be a fatal weakness, and that he could find some way to reconcile the two sides of his life.

He wanted Will to be his strength, not his weakness. He wanted to believe that Will could lift him up to some exalted height, to some rarefied atmosphere that he had never inhabited before. He wanted to ascend to those heights, to where he believed that Will's soul resided.

If that meant that he had to overcome the weaknesses within himself, then he would do it. He would do anything he had to do to ensure that Will was his.

Even if it was the hardest thing that he'd ever tried to accomplish.


	51. Presence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally puts a face and a name to the presence that's haunted his dreams for so long.

He was walking. Winston was beside him on the road.

Will put one foot in front of the other, slowly, aimlessly. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't have any real destination in mind. He was just .... walking.

Why was he here? He didn't know the answer to that question. He had no idea why he was walking down this road, his most faithful dog at his heels, as though Winston was guarding him, protecting him. He had no idea why he wouldn't be safely at home.

But he wasn't. He was here, with no apparent reason for being out and about. Especially since .... he looked down at himself. Since he was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt.

There was a presence here. Somewhere that it couldn't be seen.

Slowly, he turned his head, then he stopped walking. He turned to the side of the road, facing the forest of trees there, knowing that the presence was hidden in the greenery.

No. No, it wasn't. It was here, next to him. Behind him. The presence had somehow gotten behind him, sneaking up on him when he wasn't looking. It had even escaped Winston's notice; the dog was now off to the side of the road, sniffing at something, oblivious to whatever it was.

Will didn't want to turn around. But he had to. He could feel warm breath on the back of his neck; he could feel that menacing presence moving ever closer to him.

He didn't want to turn around. He was almost afraid to. But he had to see who it was; he had to at least catch a glimpse of the person's face. He had to _know_.

He turned, his eyes widening as he did so. There was a face, but it was a face that was only partially human. It was a face that sprouted horns, like a deer's antlers; it was half-man, half-stag. And the face .... the face was someone he knew. Someone he _trusted_.

He knew the voice before it spoke. He knew what it would sound like. It was already ringing in his ears. "Hello, Will." The two words were guttural, almost inhuman.

The face and the voice belonged to Hannibal Lecter.

Will's eyes flew open, and he sat up in bed, swallowing back a cry. He wasn't walking down that road with some frightening creature behind him. He was home in bed. Safe.

Will ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe away what he'd seen in his dream. It had to be a fallacy, a product of his troubled mind, of all the stress he'd been dealing with lately. Didn't it? Hannibal couldn't be his assailant. Hannibal would never do that to him.

But even though he kept trying to tell himself that, doubts were already seeping through. Will buried his face in his hands, wishing that he could push them all away.

What in the hell was he supposed to do now?


	52. Darker Motivations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal wonders if he does indeed want to change himself for Will, or if his motivations for being with the younger man are much darker than they appear.

Hannibal sighed softly, resting his head in one hand.

A headache had started, but at the moment, he didn't feel like rising from his desk chair and going into the bathroom for some aspirin. He couldn't summon the energy.

There were still clouds blocking his memory of just what had happened on that night that he had attacked Will, but there were also flashes that came through those clouds. He was the one who had done it; he had no doubt of that. But he had no idea how he could inform Will of that fact.

The truth was that he couldn't. There was no way that he could deal with seeing the hurt and revulsion that he was sure would show on Will's features.

He couldn't bear having Will pull away from him.

That would destroy something in his soul, to see fear and loathing in those beautiful blue eyes. It would rip away the last vestiges of what was honorable within him.

There wasn't much of that left, Hannibal thought wryly. Honor had left him long ago, on that day when he had discovered his beloved sister's fate. That was what had set him on the path he had taken, and until meeting Will, he'd had no reason to regret that path. He had always reveled in it.

Until now. Until the knowledge had settled on him that he had harmed the one person he'd ever wanted to spend his life with, the one person who could change him.

He sat back, rubbing a hand across his chin. Was that entirely true? _Could_ he change himself for Will? Did he even truly want to do so?

It seemed that other clouds were finally dissipating, letting him see his motivations for pursuing Will more clearly than he ever had. He had told himself that he loved Will, that he wanted them to be together. But was that strictly the truth -- or were his motivations something far darker?

Hannibal shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts away. He didn't want to let go of the rosy picture that he had been holding of Will in his mind for a while.

But was that picture just wishing for what could never be?

In a way, he was glad that these clouds in his mind were dissipating, and allowing him to at least partially see what had taken place. But a part of him didn't want to know.

He might be much happier if he had no knowledge of what had taken place on that moonlit night. Then, if Will had a sudden resurgence of memory, then he would be able to honestly say that he had no recollection of it, that he couldn't be held responsible for what had happened.

But that hope was gone, now that his own memories had surfaced. Hannibal sighed again, pushing himself out of his chair and heading for the bathroom.

His thoughts had brought the headache back with a vengeance.


End file.
